


Wolfbann

by EdgeLaur



Series: Wolfssegner [1]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Animal Death, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Infection, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Corvo Attano/Jessamine Kaldwin, Serious Canon Divergence Ahead, Slow Burn, Transformation, Werewolves, Wrongful Imprisonment, black magic, mild body dysphoria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-15 17:46:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 78,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13618485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdgeLaur/pseuds/EdgeLaur
Summary: In Dunwall, there are Overseers, the religious elite. And then, there are those that the Overseers seek to eradicate; the heretics, the witches, and of course, the lycan packs; the wolves of men.When Corvo Attano finds himself thrown into the middle of it all through sheer, fateful chance, he discovers there's a blessing lurking under every curse.





	1. With Burning Infection

Corvo Attano was in prison the first time it happened.

He's not sure why it happened, or when. It was all a hazy, fevered blur; his entire life had become such for the past month and he could do nothing but fight a burning in his veins and the scorch of heat on his flesh. He knew vaguely that he was in prison for all the wrong reasons -- all the most horrible, _terrible_ reasons -- but there was no way out and his mind could barely string two thoughts together before they turned to ash and cinders. His dreams were haunted by whales and giant monsters; his waking hours were haunted by the endless tick off the clock and the assault of torture waiting in the room across from his cell.

They dragged him by his arms. They _always_ dragged him by his arms. They knew of the infected wounds that lay just beneath the ruined cloth of his coat, the coat they kept on him simply to hide the festering cuts that they refused to touch or clean. He knew why they kept the cuts tainted and unwashed; they made it easy to subdue Corvo. All they had to do was clamp down on his red and swollen upper arms, along the thick slashes gouging deep into the muscle and sinew, and he would scream out his agony and put up no resistance. Even through the thick fabric of his old Royal Protector coat the pain seared hot like a brand and they would scruff him up, shocked and shivering, to his next day in the interrogation chambers.

He stared blearily down at that coat, the blue color faded under a layer of grime, weighing the fabric down until it hung limp at his sides, and wished it still stood for-- for _something._ But it didn't now: Corvo had failed to protect, to fulfill his duty.

But then, what could a man like him do against… against a group of _monsters_ like that?

If it wasn't for the deep wounds in his arms, allowing this burning poison to burrow under his skin, Corvo would have thought his memories of that day were simply a concoction of his fevered state. Instead, the truth was worse than any nightmare; his charge, his ward, his _Empress_ had been killed -- nay _slaughtered_ \-- by what he could only describe as a giant, horrible wolf. And not just any hound, no; it was no stray dog accidentally attacking his fair and wonderful Jessamine. Instead, it was a giant boulder of a beast, towering above him, filling Dunwall Tower's garden gazebo with shadow. His minions -- his pack, perhaps -- had been smaller, less powerful, but just as dangerously quick. Corvo remembered stabbing two, shooting one -- they had yelped like wolfhounds and crumpled, their bodies disappearing in smoke. He had gasped, the fear of it making his blade shake in his hand, but suddenly the giant wolf had hovered over Jessamine and he had stopped thinking, stopped fearing as he lunged between them --

Just as the giant wolf had brought it's claws down, slicing his arms to ribbons.

The pain had been blinding. Lights erupted in his vision and his hearing became oddly muffled, as if his head had been filled with cotton. He heard screaming, his name, but all that he felt was the blood running down his arms in rivers. They emptied into a sea of red on the gazebo floor, and there she was -- the Empress, her body sliced open, lifeless, reaching for, _for…_

“Ah, Corvo.”

He jerked against the sound of his name, flinching from the voice that spoke to him. He fought the guards, breath hitching, his panic rising-- but they held him firm, easily overpowering his weakened form. Through his long, sweat-matted hair, Corvo could just make out the face of the Lord Regent, the man who had assumed power after the gazebo incident. After Corvo had failed to do his duty, had let the Empress perish.

Silently, the Lord Regent motioned to the guards. They set Corvo down into the chair and more fear rose in his throat, the scent of it sharp in his nose. He had never known the scent of fear before, but prison reveals things, he's found -- like the heartbeats of the rats in the walls and on the floor, of what the world looks like in the dark, what the lingering cold creep of mindless terror smells like. Those were his constants here, the things that let him know he had yet more to endure.

He breathed in the smell of it, on himself, the Regent, but oddly not on the executioner; _never_ on the executioner.

Corvo could see him, his hulking form shadowed, eyes shining in the darkness, watching Corvo like a predator, like a giant wolf in a gazebo with a scar on its face and blood on its hands and the sound of Jessamine dying…

His pulse pounded loudly in his ear, so much so that he hardly heard what the Lord Regent said next.

“So, are you ready to confess?”

Corvo's eyes blearily tried to focus on the figure of Hiram Burrows, the man who had brought it upon himself to question Corvo about Jessamine's death. He also took up the task of _torturing_ Corvo for a confession, though why he didn't just believe Corvo didn't do the deed was beyond him.

Burrows’ old position before becoming Lord Regent had been Spymaster for the Empress. He and Corvo spoke little, and Corvo had held little to no trust for the man and his small, beady eyes.

Now he knows he had been right to be suspicious; Burrows had found Corvo not long after Jessamine passed away, arms bloody, clasping the cold, shattered body of the Empress to his chest. He knows someone had yelled to quickly find Emily, Jessamine's daughter, and in the back of his mind Corvo was relieved that Emily had been out to her studies, and hadn't seen her mother die like… like a lamb sent to slaughter.

Corvo really wasn't surprised when they dragged him away, shouting blame into his ear. A foreigner to Gristol and Dunwall, he had always been an easy target to ridicule, with his dark hair and olive skin. For Dunwall’s elite, he was an easy scapegoat for their problems. Now, instead of looking for the true culprit of the Empress’s murder, they had brought Corvo to prison because it was _affordable,_ and from behind the walls of Coldridge, he festered and began to rot.

They had proceeded to torture him, daily, trying to wring out a false confession.

When Corvo's eyes finally adjusted, meeting Burrows’ gaze for a fraction of a second, he could see the look of disappointment on the man's face. The blood pounded louder in his ears, his head begging to split open, the ache overwhelming as he prayed -- not for the first time -- that the Void would just drag him away and end his misery.

The Lord Regent sighed, head shaking.

“Still not talking, I see? You never were a talkative man. In truth, I sometimes thought you mute, and would have believed it, if I didn't see you conversing with the Empress and the girl from time to time.”

He paced Corvo where he sat, tied to the chair. Corvo's hands flexed, the heat of nausea crashing over him in waves. He felt the Regent watching his movements with a mixed expression.

“Luckily for me, Lord Corvo, I do not need you to talk to confess. Not anymore. It is simply a matter...of time.”

Corvo tried to frown but it only managed a pained grimace. His skin crawled and pulled, leaving him gasping and delirious.

Burrows’s head snapped to the executioner in the corner.

“How much longer? It's been a damned month already!”

“Not long now,” the voice drawled, low and intimidating. There was a hunger there too, one that brought the creep of fear up Corvo's spine and into his nostrils. He wished he could focus, could understand what they were talking about, but he could hardly see straight, the ringing of his muffled ears destroying all his concentration.

And then, all at once, _it happened._

Corvo lurched, heaved. Whatever had been in his stomach came pouring out, stenching the room with the sharp offensive odor of his bile. His body seized again, dry heaving against a building pressure and he couldn't think anymore, couldn't even breathe.

This was what dying felt like. Corvo couldn't imagine it being anything else-- he had finally reached his limit. His body was on _fire,_ ignited, itching-- suddenly his skin didn't fit and was too close; he wanted nothing more than to rip it off and toss it aside and let death take him in release. He threw his head back, strained against the bonds, the desperate yell escaping him dripping with a primal fear of death and the sweet embrace of the Void, all at the same time.

Corvo never registered it, but the guards would later say it was an unearthly _howl,_ a _sound_ that shook their very cores, as if a whale had walked ashore and learned to scream instead of sing.

When he next spasmed, he felt more than heard his bones _snap_ and _crunch_ and he _shrieked_ , fear gripping his brain in a way he couldn't later describe and would never experience again. He didn't want to survive this, didn't want to understand how or why his bones were moving of their own accord under his very skin, but something told him to _live,_ and that small tendril is what he held onto, even as his body literally shattered from the inside out.

He heard Burrows gasp, the sound surprisingly sharp in his ringing ears. He vaguely registered words like _‘fascinating’_ and _‘_ _truly horrifying’_ but they made no sense, they couldn't possibly be referring to--

“Remove Corvo's bonds, I don't want him to lose his hands.”

There was the sound of heavy footfall nearing him, crowding into his space.  Suddenly the air was _hot,_ the breath and body of the executioner far too near as he released the bonds pinning Corvo to the chair. Corvo's body was shattering and splintering and yet something new reached his nose, a terrible stench from the executioner-- one that took him back to a gazebo, with the shadow of a fanged face, his arms sliced open, his Empress screaming, _dying_ \--

Corvo _roared._

He’d meant to scream _“you!”_ but the words morphed in his mouth, becoming a horrible, demonic scream from beyond the Void itself. He lunged, his body moving on instinct-- mouth snapping, teeth bared and clashing together loudly. The pain of his teeth lengthening and his body splitting should have blinded him, the tears blurring his vision but a new feeling erupted in his chest, of _power_ and _hunger_ and most of all, an all consuming _anger_ to destroy that which killed her, destroyed _his_ _life…_

Despite his snapping maw and sharpening teeth the executioner did not flinch or move  away, faithfully removing the far-too-tight wrist bonds. Finally free, Corvo pounced, body coursing with a newfound energy he had never before known. He brought up a hand -- clawed now, thick and sturdy, covered in a layer of black fur, none of which he now paid attention to -- to slash it across straight at the executioner. The man sidestepped, eyes flashing, but Corvo just snarled, deep and guttural, his mind fleeing as this new, horrible nightmare began.

He was the monster, this time. He was the one with slashing nails and biting fangs and he was the killer now -- except he wanted _vengeance,_ needed guilty instead of innocent blood. It burned hot in his veins and surged him on through the blinding pain as he growled and lunged for the man again.

But he wasn't a man, not anymore.

From a cloud of smoke a giant, grey wolf emerged, towering before him. The pungent odor of his fur sparked Corvo's memory-- but in a different way. This was the smell-- _their smell,_ our _smell, the smell of what we are,_ a voice told him-- but this was not the wolf of that day, there was no scar slashing through his gleaming eyes, and the other wolf had been as dark as the night--

The full weight of this new wolf slammed into Corvo. He was twice as heavy and three times as powerful, with how weak Corvo currently was. He slammed Corvo into the floor, again and again, knocking the wind from him, beating his body down into dust. Corvo had fought, had squirmed, had tried to get away, but in the end he was reduced to a whimpering, bruised mess or fur and flesh. He shook and shuddered, tongue lolling, registering the smell of his own blood mixing with the earlier bile spilt on the interrogation room floor.

Into his vision swam boots and then the face of the Lord Regent as he bent over to examine Corvo in his new state of being. There was a frown there, and Corvo returned it, lips curling back and revealing long, dangerous fangs.

“Quite incredible. Are the first transformations always this… dramatic?”

He addressed the wolf next to him, once again wearing the skin of a man. A man who peered down at Corvo’s shivering form, eyes bright in the shadows.

“Sometimes. When the fever is this strong, most don't survive.”

“Well, _he_ did, which is exactly what we need. Not that it matters; he’ll be dead soon anyway. I'll have to inform Daud that his improvisation worked, and now we can convincingly blame the Royal Protector for what happened to Jessamine.”

Corvo's brain derailed. He could feel his body stiffening, his claws scraping along the floor, leaving deep gauges. The growl rolled out of him like a wave, battering into them, but he was powerless to follow-up the threat of it.

Hiram Burrows just gazed down his nose at Corvo, lying there at his feet. He nudged Corvo's leg with a boot and derisively sniffed.

“We'll have him executed when the time is right. You can keep him in check until then, I assume? And quiet? We don't need him getting out and telling everyone we hired the hit on Jessamine in the first place.”

“It would be my pleasure, sir.”

“Excellent. Now clean up this mess; Campbell will be happy to know his little heretic pet has finally hatched. He’ll also be delighted to know he can now go tell the masses he was right all along about our dear friend Corvo Attano."

Corvo's brain screamed at his body, yelling at his limbs to _movemovemove!_ even as the Lord Regent walked away and out of sight. Before he could lift himself up, however, the executioner and the guards were there, kicking his ribs and forcing his head back. The muzzle was too tight and he thrashed against it, mouth snarling-- but it was a lost cause. A small, sharp pain registered in his side before the world wobbled. He fought to stay awake but the sleep serum was too strong and his body too weak to resist it. He was unconscious in seconds, his body limp, his mind blank, his ears ringing with a heady mix of howls and whalesong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I'm doing. I just got an idea and ran away with it. It hasnt even really been beta'd, so if I made any mistakes let me know.
> 
> PS This will probably be future Corvo/Daud but since I have no idea where I'm going or how far I'll get, I'm tagging it as general for now. That may change in the future though! I'm just playing around with this anyway. And I like Corvo with scars. 
> 
> >:DDD


	2. With Fangs and Fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a heads-up, the added tag "animal death" comes into play here.

Dunwall, the capital of Gristol in the Empire of the Isles, is ruled by a single major clerical body: the Abbey of the Everyman. Their main stance is simply the opposition of the Outsider, a figure which they believe resides in the Void and from which all chaos is born. Anything leading to or originating from the Outsider is deemed heretical; bonecharms and runes carved from whales, for example, are a sure sign of heretic activities. Bearing a mark or a sigil tattoo was another easy way to identify a follower of the Outsider.

And the presence of magic -- of the ability to disappear, possess or even change shape -- is the highest sign of Outsider influence, one to be eradicated immediately.

So Corvo Attano, for all the horrid joke his life has become, cannot understand why he's _still alive._

It was a constant ache to continue to live. After he had… had _changed,_ Burrows had done everything in his power to lock Corvo up, throwing him in his pit of a cell, muzzle on his face, kicked like a dog and fed only scraps to survive off of. He could feel his body lurch and spasm; something under his skin sang and thrummed and wanted so desperately to come out, but he would only get through half of a blissfully painful transformation before he was tackled, thrown against the wall, his weakened body forced to let go and recede. He would look up, his red and bleary eyes meeting those terrifying, glowing orbs, teeth bared and fur bristling as he pushed Corvo hard against the concrete.

 _“You are an abomination,”_ a voice would say, resonating in his head. _“And you do not deserve to live.”_

And yet here he was, his weakened state still lingering, carrying the name of a bird, the body of a monster, clinging to the desecrated life of a man.

He had heard the stories, of course, when he was a child. Of whales that grew fur under the moon and walked on land, of cursed humans forced to transform at night. They would howl and scream and do the bidding of the Outsider. His mother had warned him to stay clean and good, because if not he would join them, the Outsider's whale-wolves. But he had never really believed her: when he grew up, he learned the howls he had heard over the mountains were nothing more than real wolves, lost in the Serkonan jungles. And then in Dunwall, the howls were replaced with the barkings of the Overseer wolfhounds, and he forgot the stories of his childhood, even while raising a child of his own.

Now, he wished he had remembered and taken stock in the tales his mother had warned him of. And in that dank and dreary cell, starving and weak, he couldn't help but wonder what he had done to be cursed with the wrath of a god.

\------

“Rise and shine, pit hound,” a gruff voice of a guard said from down the hall, filling his stomach with sickening dread. Corvo looked up and over, eyes trying to adjust as his nose instinctively -- _so many things_ felt instinctive now, things he didn't understand yet and nobody was around to explain to him -- sniffed, the intake of breath giving more than his other senses ever could. There was usual the stench of the guard but another musk hung under that, one he didn't recognize. He narrowed his eyes, body tensing, fist clenching.

When the shadow of the guard passed over his door, he did not rise and he did not shine, much to the armed man's disappointment.

“You have a special visitor today,” he slurred out, amusement coloring his thick words. Corvo's head inclined, trying to get a better look at the man; was something wrong with him? He inhaled through his nose again and finally identified that heady, wooden, sharp stench-- alcohol. It had been a long time since Corvo himself had drank much more than a glass of Cullero Red, shared with the Empress at court, but wine was noticeably sweet, the blow of fermentation softened by the enticement of fruit. Whatever this man's feet was unsteady on, it was made of much heavier stuff than a fruit of the vine.

Corvo took the time to look the man up and down and the guard paid little attention to him in his liquored state. Instead, he hummed under his breath, beckoned a friend over, and started to undo the lock.

“Yanno,” he spilled out, and Corvo wrinkled his nose in response, the stench rolling off the guard now bordering offensive-- which was saying something, given the state of his cell. Regardless, as the door swung open and the man staggered in, Corvo jumped to his feet, limbs already vibrating with alertness. But the guard ignored him, continuing with whatever he was doing.

“We figured -- me and the boys -- that leaving you here in like this is getting damn boring. A heretic wolf? Think of the entertaining possibilities…”

Corvo watched him, ready to jump out of his skin if needed, body itching-- but whatever excitement he was starting to build was dashed as a second guard hulked into view, blocking the entrance.

And by his feet stood a growling, snapping, snarling pit hound.

Corvo looked down at the dog just as the dog found him and suddenly it was lurching against the leash, barking, jumping up to go for the throat.

“So we figured if you're gonna be treated like a pit hound, why not fight like one?”

Corvo backed up just as the guard backed out, releasing his friend's dog on Corvo in his tiny cell.

Corvo's breath hitched as the large dog became a fury of fang and fur. Before Corvo could really move, long teeth sank into his arm, immediately drawing blood. His heart pounded in his ears, muffling the laughing of the guards, their drunken cheering, and something dark and deep in his chest _begged_ to come out.

He pushed it down to the best of his ability. He didn't want to give in, to transform, not because of a dog. But the hound was trained, relentless; its long jaws bit at him again and again, fur bristling as it tore chunks from Corvo's arm. He tried to pry it off, but the blood just ran away from its mouth and its jaws tightened, digging strong fangs in, refusing to let go.

The hound growled and pulled. The guards goaded and laughed. And from somewhere against that blur of pain and searing flesh, Corvo _snarled._

He would later blame instinct. That unstoppable force driving him now, telling his body what to do, superseding his mind’s control. There was so much that was instinctual now--the way he snapped up rats that wandered too close, the way he went limp when the large grey wolf pinned him down, the way he sometimes sang, calling for someone _anyone_ out there besides him.

The way his claws grew just to rip a dog off of his arm, sending it across the room in a bid to save his own life.

His body trembled and the growl rolled out of him as his back hunched and ears and fur and tail and muzzle all simultaneously sprouted. The dog whimpered where it hit the wall, but courage was bred into it; it growled and barked even as Corvo's frame grew, bulking out and shadowing the dog even as it lunged again for the thick fur growing on his neck. Corvo dropped to all fours, _roaring_ and shaking as his body erupted, moving to throw the dog off again. His jaws snapped -- but they were nothing more than a blunt object against the protective cage of a muzzle that rendered his fangs useless.

But Corvo was only getting bigger -- and the muzzle wasn't growing with him. The leather against his head strained and pulled and he shook his head again, an unearthly _screech_ erupting out of him that gave even the trained pit hound pause.

Even as Corvo's mind fled, his body was vaguely still aware of the dog barking, lunging for his face once again. It's teeth connected with leather and pulled away; the stretched skin _snapped_ against his face but the _pressure_ finally released and _relief_ filled him, his fangs flashing, jaws clashing, finding muscled bone as they closed down and _crunched.  
_

The blood filled his mouth and washed hot over his tongue as the dog screamed, howling in pain. Instinct and energy coursed through Corvo and he bit down, again and again, relishing in the snap of bone, in his screaming prey, in his jaws causing a kill, the promise of food, of energy, of _life, he could live with this, liveliveLIVE--_

Shouts registered in his long, sound-sensitive ears, followed by the jingling of keys and tearful cries. Corvo turned, a rumble deep in his throat as he prepared to defend his prize, _his prey,_ as a guard rushed the cell. He was so much smaller than Corvo now, who was finally _\--blessedly--_ fully transformed. He reached the ceiling, a whale-sized wolf of folklore, and if perhaps he had been sober the guard would have realized how stupid it was to enter a cramped cell with a fully-fledged Outsider Monster, how ludicrous it was to step in between a wolf and its meal.

The shots rang out, feeling like hot stings against Corvo's abused and rage-filled skin. He turned his bloody head to the guard, the man's face filled with tears as he looked to his dog, his prized fighter, now long gone, the life running out just like _hers did_ and suddenly, memory bubbled up unbidden and Corvo _shuddered._

_Trapped. Framed. Changed. Ruined. Monster. MonstermonsterABOMINATION._

He opened his mouth and howled, his cry like pained whalesong, screeching and eerie and like no sound any animal should ever make. The guard paused, frozen and terrified against the power of his pain.

The open door of the cell suddenly swam into view and Corvo held onto his sanity long enough to understand what this meant, how he could take advantage of the drunken guard's hubris. He turned from his meal and _leapt,_ ignoring the yells, ignoring the sharp smell of fear and piss as he surged toward the door, willing his body to finally, _finally…_

_Be free!_

Corvo choked and and whimpered as a part of him dissolved into smoke, allowing his hulking frame to slip through the too-small door frame. His arms reached out and the guards _screamed_ in terror as the monster of a wolf emerged from the cloud, dust and ash coalescing back into the solid form of muscle and bone and fur. Corvo was left panting from exhaustion and surprise but he did not wait, couldn't afford to think of anything but _freedom,_ of getting out, of willing his powerful new legs to _move_ to anywhere but here.

He smoked through the rooms in a fevered, instinct-driven fury, not looking back as his tongue lolled out, his eyes bulged, his nose leading the way to the yard, to the sky, to the smell of river water just beyond--

A howl, hungry and excited, sounded out. Corvo froze, heart hammering, brain reeling.

The Royal Executioner. He was coming. And his tone was after _blood._

Corvo's pace quickened, his lupine body powered by adrenaline as it continued to surge forward, ghosting through doors and past guards in a cloud of dust and fur and light. He just wanted to _get out_ and his instincts -- his will to live -- refused to let him die here.

Claws crashed against the floor of the courtyard as Corvo landed, hard and heavy, his eyes turned skyward for the first time in months. His nose pointed to the stars and _inhaled,_ taking in the outside air of Dunwall, and his heart sang, his joy palpable as he let out a small howl to the sky.

If he had been human, or had his wits, he would have known such a cheer would have attracted attention, giving his position away. It was stupid to celebrate before the night was won.

But as thick, heavy paws jumped over the ramparts and into the yard, the Wolf named Raven suddenly realized the grave mistake he had made.

Glowing eyes. A bristling, upright frame. And a growl to match the anger in those long fangs.

The Executioner had arrived. 

Corvo was large. This was a fact: he filled his cell, he was too big for regular doors, dwarfing human and hound alike. His weight was close to a metric ton. And yet, at full form, the executioner was _even_ _larger still._ A giant of a dog, he lived up to the old folkname of _whale-wolf_.

_“You are not going to leave.”_

The pressure of his bidding crashed into Corvo and he wheezed, his smaller body unable to handle the onslaught. He whined, claws flexing, tail tucking. The wolf stalked forward, the magic of him crackling, and Corvo bowed to it.

 _“What a foolish, stupid thing you are. Just like every other Turned,_ _”_ he snarled out, drool dropping, teeth gnashing. _“You do not deserve this power. You do not deserve to live.”_

Corvo whined, body shaking, ears down, not meeting the gaze of the monster before him. But as he stalked closer, something invariably _stronger_ than even the Great Grey _pulled_ on him, _yearned_ for him, and he gasped as the energy from its source flooded him.

_Get out. Climb. Defy him and find Me._

Corvo's eyes shot open and he panted, body paralyzed between two forces pushing against him. He looked up just in time to see the other wolf pull back, readying his practiced killing blow.

_Come and find Me! You are not his, but MINE!_

Corvo's claws shot out, smashing into the larger Wolf’s face with a resounding _crash._ Fur flew and skin peeled away, leaving behind angry red lines on a snarling muzzle. But Corvo didn't stick around to admire his handiwork: instead he was leaping, his legs carrying him upward, towards the ramparts, towards the night sky and freedom.

The snarl followed him, loud and angry. The shots of the guards rang out. Hot bullet pricks turned into a spreading fire but still Corvo surged upwards, long strong claws scrabbling for purchase against smooth and heavy stone. He ignored everything around him but his instinct and a pull greater than himself telling him to come, to live, to _belong._

He reached the top of the building and sang, the cold night air a blessing against his cursed and battered flesh. Below him, the compound erupted into chaos; more shots rang out, some finding their mark, others ricocheting off the stone.

But Corvo didn't care; finally, he was _free._ He was tired and wounded but finally he was _out_ and as he leapt into the Wrenhaven River, his body and mind disengaged and let the river wash him away from the cursed Coldridge Prison.

\------

_“Your life has taken a turn, has it not?”_

Corvo gasped and jerked awake, drawing breath so fast his whole body spasmed. As he did, the world under him _shifted_ before righting again, rocking back and forth quickly. A soft, tired voice was talking to him, muffled in his ears, hard to understand. But when the gentle hand touched his shoulder he jerked back and away, instinct taking over. His lip curled, the snarl ripping out of him before he could stop it, but the face of the boatman next to him was soft and worried, not scared or threatening.

His was _certainly_ not the face of a Coldridge guard or the Royal Executioner.

“Woah, woah, easy there, Lord Corvo,” he said gently, hand still outstretched towards Corvo as his other steadied his rocking boat. Corvo took a breath and looked around, trying desperately to right himself and understand what was happening.

He was in a boat. A small boat: wooden and rickety and powered by whale oil, it was perfect for traveling down the Wrenhaven and navigating its many tributaries. He looked up and down the huge expanse of water and his breath evened out as he saw that wherever he was, it was far away from the Tower and its cold, hate-filled prison.

Corvo chanced a glance back to the man. His lids hung heavy and he had grey hair, wrinkles, and mutton chops -- but a small smile was also there, laced with worry. No fear wafted from the man and Corvo squinted.

“Who are you?”

Corvo's voice was rough from the disuse and abuse it had endured for who knew how many months locked in Coldridge. He winced at the sound of his words and then again as his tongue rolled over teeth that felt too thick and heavy for his current human mouth.

“Samuel Beechworth, at your service, Lord Corvo,” the boatman said with a smile and the sweep of a sitting bow. “Couldn't believe when I found you half-drowned and half-naked among the reeds downstream from the prison. You've been giving the Lord Regent quite the run-around these last few days with your escape, you know.”

Corvo took a few moments to digest that. He looked down at the clothes he was wearing now; a nondescript pair of slacks and suspenders over a few well worn shirts. They smelled foreign and he couldn't stop the way his nose curled as he pulled at the fabric.

Sam laughed, noticing. “Couldn't let you die of the plague, Corvo. Luckily, I had a few spare outfits stashed in the boat. Hope you don't mind the temporary dressings, I haven't exactly dried out your fancy Protector coat yet.”

Corvo didn't mind, but it didn't stop his muddled head from reeling, still desperately trying to play catch-up.

“Is that how you know who I am?”

“Oh, well that, and I don't think there's a person in all of Dunwall who _doesn't_ know your face by now, Corvo. You've been a wanted man since the Empress died.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About two or so months now, sir.”

Corvo choked and turned to Sam so fast, the boatman barely had time to register his surprise.

“Emily-- What about _Emily?”_ His wrecked voice cracked and something inside him suddenly _burned_ with a deep-seated need to protect. “Where is she?”

Sam looked nervously at Corvo, and his face said everything Corvo dreaded knowing.

“I was mighty afraid you'd ask, sir. About that...the thing is -- and I'm sorry for being the one telling you, but -- nobody knows.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE WUFFIES!! And I apologize for the name change! I had an epiphany over the weekend regarding the story while chatting extensively with a friend over this, so the title "Wolfssegner" will return for a later story. "Wolfbann" still works for this story; it roughly translates to 'wolf spell' and was used to denote an incantation that would summon wolves to attack during the 1600s in Germany. All in all, a fitting name for Corvo's cursed predicament, huehue. 
> 
> More soon! I'm so excited for what's to come!!


	3. With Hope-Filled Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look guys look, I have a COVER for this now. Because I love my fic and I love what I can visually do with it. Have a peek [here](http://laur-rants.tumblr.com/post/171084128152/some-concepts-a-experimental-cover-for-my).

“Lady Emily, if you please, for the last time, we _need_ you to stay put.”

“But where's Corvo?” she asked, for what may have been the thousandth time that week. The sad, tired eyes of the tower maid just wilted even further under the question and she shook her head in response.

“He'll be back soon, Emily. I promise.”

“But--” Emily started again, but the maid just put a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to quiet Emily's angry tears.

“I can't say where he is. I just need you to wait here. The Regent needs you to stay safe, at least until everything can be sorted out.”

 _“Then_ can I see Corvo?” Emily begged, questioned, _hoped._ The maid just bit her lip, hesitating before giving Emily a quick kiss on the forehead.

“I’ll try to ask the Regent, Lady Emily, one more time,” is all she said before leaving Emily in her room, locking the door behind her.

As soon as the lock clicked shut, Emily curled her hands into fists, nails biting at her palm. A muffled screech burned in her throat and the tears flowed as she kicked at the door, accomplishing nothing more than a pain in her leg. The tantrum followed her around the room as she pulled at her hair, bit at her fist, punched her pillows. She wanted nothing more than to wreck whatever her hands could get ahold of.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair _at all_ and she hated how powerless she was in all of it.

Since the death of her mother, Dunwall Tower had become a zone of chaos. Nobody knew what to do, nobody knew who to turn to, and Emily was left as an afterthought as positions shifted and power shuffled. She had been left, a child of nine years, floundering for answers and explanations, for _anything_ that told her why her mother was gone, why Corvo was missing, or why her life was suddenly as broken as a shattered ceramic pot.

Her mother was dead. _Assassinated._ And to make it all worse, the rumor of the castle was that Corvo himself was responsible for it all.

Nobody told Emily this directly, of course. But Emily knew how to hide and knew how to be quiet and when nobody thought she was there, she had heard the whispers of Corvo being found with Jessamine's blood on his hands. She had scoffed, of course; there was no way Corvo had killed Mother. Corvo was dedicated fully to the Empress and never left her side. _Ever._ Not with the plague looming over Dunwall, not even when the Spymaster had tried to convince the Empress to send him around the Isles to garner support. Jessamine had openly laughed at her Spymaster then, dismissing the idea entirely.

“Corvo is my _protector,_ not a diplomat, Hiram,” her mother had said derisively. “What would he do? Go to Morley, ask for a duel, hope that he wins the battle and their hearts?”

“No Empress,” Hiram had started, disgruntled. “But he is your most trusted advisor, and sending him off would make a statement to the other Isles--”

“He's my most trusted and thus should stay as close to me as possible,” Emily had heard her mother retort, the sharpness of her voice honed through years of running an empire. “In fact, I feel like you are simply putting your job on Corvo's shoulders so that you don't have to do it.”

Hiram bristled at the idea of being called out and Emily had smirked from her hiding spot in her mother's closet.

“Empress, I implore you _that_ is _not_ what I am doing, I'm making the suggestion for the good of the Empire--”

“Then go yourself. See to it that it is done.”

Hiram sputtered, trying to retort, but Emily knew from the smile on her mother's lips and the straightness of her shoulders that she'd won the argument.

“Take Curnow with you as well; he is a good man and I trust him greatly. And when you return, we will… _discuss_ implementing Sokolov's walls of light. As a last resort only, Hiram.”

Hiram had bowed, had left then, and Emily had popped from the closet, giggling as she threw herself into her mother's arms.

“And _that,”_ she whispered to Emily, “is how you tell off a sneaky Spymaster, Emily.”

Six months after that conversation, while Emily was at her studies, her mother and Corvo had been busy talking with the returning Spymaster, after which they were to meet for dinner. That never happened, however, because...

_Because…_

Because then she learned her family had crumpled in the late afternoon, and that she'd never hear her mother's smirking voice tell off a Royal Spymaster ever again.

And they all had the audacity to think _Corvo_ was behind it all.

Emily threw herself onto her bed, curling around a pillow, her scream of anger and sadness drowned out by the impeding fabric. She fought and argued into her cushions, wishing that someone would _at least_ tell her what was going on.

More than anything, though, she just wished Corvo was there with her. Without him, without _mother,_ she couldn’t help but feel terribly, irrevocably, _alone._

She was nine. Her life was in shambles. And she was helpless to do anything about it.

She doesn't know how long she sat there in her room, pondering her life, doubting everything, turning facts over in her mind just to end up more confused than ever. Her head pounded from days of shed tears but still, she couldn't bear to sleep. What if Corvo showed unexpectedly? She needed to be awake, she needed to be…

Muffled voices reached her ears. With nothing to occupy her, she turned to the sound, listening carefully. She started towards the door-- but stopped when she realized the voices weren't coming from the hall beyond. Emily frowned; if they weren't outside her door, where could they possibly be coming from? 

A soft thump, a loud yelp, and then a hissed scolding wafted over from the window. She frowned and listened, ducking low to make herself unseen when two voices she didn't recognize drifted down to her.

“--I’m just saying, I don't see why she's so important.”

A long-suffering sigh and a nearly identical voice responded.

“She's the _future Empress,_ Connor. Of course she's important.”

“But why important to _Daud?_ I mean, after what he did just a week ago, I'm surprised he even sent us here.”

Emily’s ears perked and her eyebrows raised as she peeked around the bed, trying to get a better view of the landing outside the window.

“It's not our place to question what Daud wants to do. As far as I know, though, she's important to Corvo and--”

“Corvo, the _Royal Protector?”_

“The very same.”

“What kind of game is Daud --”

Emily scrambled unceremoniously up to the window, jumping over her bed loudly as she rushed to the sill. Outside there was another muffled curse, the rush of wind, but when Emily finally peered out, she saw--

\--No one.

“What?” She exclaimed, breathless. She leaned out, looking around, but no one was standing outside on the small balcony. Still, she offered a hopeful little _“hello?”_ to the wind before finally letting her hope die as she pulled herself back in to her room.

She curled herself carefully back down to the bed, turned around, and came face to face with a giant wolf.

Emily's throat gasped shut and she scrambled to the other side of the bed. The dog was _massive;_ a huge frame far larger than any hound she'd ever seen. It had sharp, wild eyes, large splayed paws, and a peculiar amber-colored fur. Certainly, nothing like the hounds she had seen the Overseers walk with outside the Tower, or within it.

More importantly, how did it even get into her room in the first place?

She kept her distance; the wolf seemed to watch her every move, attuned to details with an awareness she never would have thought an animal like that capable of. It squinted in her direction, took a step towards her, but winced and backed off when she rasped out a small, defensive squeak.

From the other side of the room, a figure materialized. This one was of a man, or perhaps a woman? Emily couldn't be sure; the face was obscured by a gas mask, wrapped securely and kept in place with the a hood of a thick overcoat.

“Young Empress,” the voice started, and Emily recognized it as one of the ones she heard out the window, though the sound was now distorted by the mask. The words were deep, but not overly grating. He bowed his head lightly. “Don't mind him; I assure you that he's ridiculously friendly.”

As if offended, the wolf looked back and _sneered_ at the man, huffing impatiently. Emily swallowed, eyes darting between them.

“Who are you?” She choked out, voice hard. “How did you get here?”

The man shuffled with uncertainty before straightening, ankles coming together as his gloved hands folded behind his back.

“My name is Thomas; this is my brother Connor. We've been informed that your life is in danger, and we've been ordered to retrieve you, for your safety.”

Emily's brow furrowed as the masked man named Thomas reached out for her.

“Your _brother?”_

Thomas twitched and brought his hand back in; clearly that was _not_ what he expected Emily to take away from that statement.

“Th-that’s not nearly as important as--” he started, trying to compose words as the wolf huffed _\--laughed,_ Emily realized-- at him, nose curling in a sideways, fanged grin. Thomas shook his head, sighing.

“I can explain that _later._ Your life is more important, surely?”

Emily looked amusedly at the large animal before scrunching her nose at the man.

“My life is already destroyed and I have lost both my mother and Corvo. If my life is so important, how do I know you won't just kill me, too?”

“I have very reliable sources stating that the Lord Regent has framed your… _protector,_ Corvo Attano, and is currently plotting on how to be rid of you as well.”

Emily's eyes widened and she leaned forward.

“You think he was framed, too?” She asked, breathless.

Thomas just inclined his head in response.

“I don't think so, I _know_ so. On his behalf, we're here to help you.”

“So you've seen him?” She jumped off the bed, eyes shining and bright and hopeful again. “Have you talked to him? Can you take me to Corvo? _I_ _order you to take me to him.”_

The wolf jerked in surprise at the command, eyes darting uncertainly to Thomas. Thomas met his gaze and quickly held his hands up to pause her.

“Young Empress I will not lie to you; we have not talked to Corvo, nor can we take you to him. He’s… he's dealing with very dangerous people, but I can take you somewhere he is assured to find you.”

She watched Thomas closely before absently holding a hand out to the wolf. To Thomas’s horror the wolf darted his head out and Emily easily slid her fingers through his fur. She watched him for a while, thinking things over while the wolf indulged and Thomas shook his head.

Her eyes darted back up to Thomas, flashing and dangerous.

“How can I trust you? Corvo taught me to always be wary because I will be Empress one day, and that scares men more than anything. You're a man with a giant dog. What if you feed me to the hound? What if you just want to use me to get Corvo?”

Thomas regarded her with a silent air of awe.

“You’re...refreshingly astute,” he muttered under his breath. Her gaze hardened and he quickly gathered himself once again.

“If I show you a secret, will you trust us?”

Emily frowned; the wolf pushed incessantly into her palm.

“What kind of secret?”

“How he's my brother.”

The wolf suddenly snorted, shaking his head and curling his lip at the man. Thomas just shrugged at the beast, folding his arms in front of his chest.

“Well? Go on, then.”

And in a flurry of light and smoke, the wolf stopped being a wolf altogether. It was a quick, fluid thing and all too suddenly a man in the place of the wolf stood up from his crouch, brushing off his coat and looking at Emily from behind a mask identical to his brother’s.

Emily gasped loudly.

“I knew it! I _knew_ you weren't a regular dog!”

Thomas chuckled and Connor looked between them, indignant.

“Well it's not like I was trying to hide that fact, you know,” Connor complained and it didn't escape Emily how they were the exact same height, build, had nearly the exact same voice -- though Connor's was a bit more upbeat than Thomas’ drier tones. Her eyes grew big as realization hit.

“Are you _twins?_ ”

“That's not really imp--” Thomas started, but Connor cut him off with a quick “--yes, we are. Identical.”

Emily squealed. Thomas sighed. Despite the more relaxed air his brother gave off, he still turned a serious eye back to Emily.

“This is a very dangerous thing to have shown you, Empress. You could easily order us killed with this information, or have the Overseers hunt us with their hounds. It's very dangerous to be _what we are_ in Dunwall.”

“But we trust that _you_ won't tell on us,” Conner interjected with an incline of his head. “Is that a correct assumption?”

Emily bit her lip. Her eyes darted to the door, then back to where the twins stood, silently watching from under their coats and behind their masks.

“I won't let you be killed,” she said softly, seriously. “I won't let _anyone_ else be killed.”

The twins shifted on their feet, passing a glance between each other. Finally, Thomas knelt down, meeting Emily at her height.

“We don't want anyone to die needlessly either. Especially if one of those needless deaths is yours.”

Emily’s eyes looked around the room and she rubbed her arm as she took a step forward.

“And Corvo… you're sure that…”

“I can't say when, but I can promise you that where we are going, you'll be safe; safer than anywhere in Dunwall. Nobody will be able to find you except my family, and yours.”

“You mean there's _more_ of you?” Emily asked, her eyes suddenly bright as she looked between the brothers. Connor shrugged.

“A few. More than enough to keep you safe.”

Emily took a breath, weighing her options. Corvo was gone; she didn't know when he was coming back, but she did know he was still alive and he would come find her. She knew that _for sure._

But the Tower was full of empty promises and powerful adults just waiting to shuffle her around for their own purposes. Her mother wasn't here, Corvo wasn't here. What did she really have that kept her tied down?

And if what she had seen was true, then these men -- these _wolves of men_ \-- were in just as vulnerable a position as her.

Finally, she nodded and reached out to take Thomas’ hand.

“Okay. I’ll go with you. Just-- just until Corvo comes back.”

Thomas sagged with relief as he took her hand gently in his glove. He nodded back.

“Just until Corvo arrives. Then you can go home with him and never see us again. You have our word.”

Emily closed her eyes and took a shaking breath before falling into Thomas’ surprised arms. She could feel him stiffen under her as she sobbed but slowly, carefully, he wrapped her up in a warm embrace. His soft hold became a neck of hot fur as he shifted, and she clung to it like a lifeline. In a whirl of wind and smoke his brother shifted too; in the next moment they were outside and above Dunwall Tower; Emily gasped and clutched tighter to Thomas’ fur, the cold air of the late day a shock on her tear-stained face. They jumped from rooftop to rooftop, gliding along like ghosts, their heavy pants the only noises made between them.

Emily's heart leapt with the realization of what was happening and bit down on her thumb just to make sure it was all _real._ She chanced a glance back, looking for her room in the Tower-- but it was already gone, the lights of the high castle fading away quickly with every new rooftop traversed.

\------

It was late evening by the time the twins slowed, the change of velocity jolting Emily out of her doze. She lifted her head off of warm fur to meet cool air; she looked around, alarm rising in her chest. The place they had brought her to was dark and dreary; far below, the roads ran flooded, filled with water and river krusts and deadly fish. The only light came from a collection of dilapidated buildings, shoddily renovated for a use other than office space and bookkeeping.

“Where are we?” Emily carefully asked, fingers curled tight into that sun-kissed fur. Under her, Thomas shifted, trying to catch her eye. He and Connor paused on a rooftop, peering down into a dark room below. The ceiling was half missing, long collapsed from mold and water damage. Emily swallowed and started to second guess her decision.

“Are you sure it's safe?” She asked them both. Thomas eyed her softly while Connor padded over, his nose finding her hand once again. She watched him as his gaze met hers, nodding and nudging her encouragingly. She sighed and gave in; no way to go back now anyway.

“Okay then. Guess we'll see what's waiting for us.”

With a low huff and a lurching jump, Thomas leapt into the dark room. As soon as his paws hit the floor his form fluidly shifted, his arms wrapped around Emily, gently putting her down.

Emily looked around, swallowing, straightening her back as her eyes darted, adjusting to the lack of light.

Next to her, Thomas also went stock straight, all seriousness and professionalism. In a flurry of ash and a whisper Connor also appeared, flanking his brother.

“Daud,” Thomas greeted. From within the gloom a large shadow shifted and separated. Emily's stomach froze over as she felt eyes on her from somewhere in that mass of darkness. “We're back with the girl. Luckily she was... _unharmed_ by the time we arrived.”

The shadow moved closer; it took all of Emily's willpower to not wilt underneath the sheer size of it. Instead, she did her best to swallow her fear, holding her head high in the face of the Void.

Into the light emerged the smoking form of a hulking wolf, twice as large as the twins and three times as tall. His nose was long and bent, the right side of his black-furred face sliced with deep, pink scars -- one clean through a burning blue eye. He stared unblinkingly down at her, studying her tiny form.

Even in the face of such a monster, Emily clenched her fist, trying her hardest not to tremble.

“You told Thomas and Connor to come and get me?” she asked. She set her shoulders and vowed to keep her tone sharp.

The whale of a wolf peered at her, it's head cocking to the side. _“I did,”_ a voice sounded in her head, and she nearly gasped at the controlled power of it.

But she was an Empress, or soon to be one. She couldn't be cowed by a _dog._

“Then I hope you will stay good on the promise they gave me. Corvo will come for me. And if you hurt a hair on my head, you'll have him to deal with.”

Next to her, she could feel the twins shift on their feet, turning to look at her. But she didn't break the Wolf's gaze, didn't back down from the challenge.

His head tilted. Her nose curled.

And then with a tentative step, the giant beast bowed to her.

In a movement not as smooth as the brothers, he shifted. The giant wolf clenched his huge fist, the back of his palm glowing bright with magic. Then, the monster melted away on the wind, fur smoking off to reveal a man clad in red, his gloved left hand still burning in the darkness. He lifted his head to the Empress, his scarred, blue eyes as sharp as any predator.

“You have my word, Empress,” his voice growled out, and there was a power there that left her breathless. “I will keep you safe until your father returns.”

Her throat caught, filled with sudden emotion.

“How do you know--”

“It’s my business to know such things, Empress,” he explained, voice rough like gnashing teeth. “I know you're important to him, and he'll eventually come to find me. So you have my promise; I will die before any harm comes to you, and I will see you back to Corvo in one piece.”

The energy wrapped in those words felt like a binding spell and she closed her eyes just to open them again. She reached her left hand out to him to seal the unspoken contract.

“Shake on it?”

He looked at her hand quizzically before standing to full height and taking the offered truce. The shake was firm, solid; Emily nodded to him before pulling her hand away. He smirked, almost in admiration.

“Strong grip you have there, Empress Emily.”

“Thank you, Lord…”

His eyes glinted like ice.

“Daud. _Just_ Daud.”

She grinned, all teeth. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Daud.”

He shifted, taken aback, before offering his own mirthless smile.

“I assure you the pleasure is all mine, Empress Emily Kaldwin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yall can blame [windsweptfic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/windsweptfic/pseuds/windsweptfic) for the fact that Thomas has a twin and his twin is Connor. Mostly because it just solves the problem in-game of 'how is Thomas constantly in two places at once??' and solving it with 'it's because he's not he just has a cheeky twin.'
> 
> ANYWAY I love the Thomas/Connor twin dynamic and let's be real, statistically Daud would have had at least _one_ set of twins in the whalers.


	4. With Friends in Low Places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I REALLY WANTED THIS POSTED BEFORE I HAD TO SPEND ALL DAY AT WORK so I made terrible life decisions to get this chapter done, including sacrificing sleep. If I have any spelling or grammar errors feel free to poke me, I'll probably do ANOTHER read-through later to catch anything I may have tiredly missed.
> 
> Enjoy, and until next time!

The Hound Pits Pub looked dreary and lonely as Corvo and Samuel pulled up on the dock next to the building. The four bricked stories stood tall and imposing and dark and _empty._ Corvo eyed the drinking establishment carefully; three months ago, this region of the city was struggling, to be sure, but it wasn't _abandoned._ Jessamine had kept close tabs on the suffering parts of the city, trying her hardest to make sure none collapsed during the onslaught of the plague. In the wake of her death, however, such upkeep had completely stopped, with the city splintering and dying as a result, one neighborhood after another. The spread of disease was getting dire if even a _bar_ couldn't stay open to let patrons drink their sorrow away.

Corvo frowned; clearly, he wasn't the only thing to have drastically changed in the time he had been locked up in Coldridge Prison.

Samuel docked with the ease of years practiced, his hands wrapping up his small boat before getting out and beckoning Corvo to follow. Corvo couldn't help but hesitate, body still feeling drawn and pulled in directions it wasn't supposed to go, senses still overloaded and overwhelmed. But Sam possessed the patience of a river heron, hardly ruffled as he waited for Corvo to step out onto dry land for the first time in months. As he fell into stride next to the old boatman, Sam cast a casual hand towards the quiet building.

“The Hound Pits Pub,” he stated matter-of-factly. “She isn't like she used to be just a few months ago, but for you to keep a low profile, she'll do just fine. Nobody but me and a few others can even get here since the district was shuttered off.”

“Can you only get here from the river?” Corvo asked tentatively as they crossed the property. Here and there, the sound of rats running whispered against his ears, and he had to fight the urge to look and lunge for them. Instead he forced his hands into makeshift pockets, his sodden Royal Protector jacket thrown over a shoulder.

“Pretty much,” Sam replied, holding the door open to the dark pub. “And nobody goes on the river, not since the quarantine went up. At least, nobody but me.”

“But you said there were a few others--”

“Samuel! Oh Outsider's eyes Sam, you _found him!”_

Corvo started and an instinctive urge to _hide_ came over him just as another figure appeared from the stairwell. It was a slim, feminine figure; wrapped in a heavy blanket and wearing a dirty maid outfit, light brown hair pulled back in disarray as she rushed out to greet the boatman.

Sam beamed affectionately.

“I told you I would Callista,” he said softly as the woman gripped at his arm. Her wide eyes looked tired and as she peered over Sam’s shoulder at Corvo, her fingers tightened on the worn fabric. That sharp smell of _fear_ reached his nose and Corvo clenched his jaw tight as he looked away.

“Don't worry, he doesn't bite,” Sam supplied jokingly, but Corvo himself was unsure of the validity of that claim. He didn't know what he _was,_ didn't know what his instincts would urge him to _do_ against his will, but as he mulled the idea over, he was relieved to find his brain more interested in snapping up fat bull rats than snapping at unsuspecting humans.

For now, at least.

“Corvo, this is Callista Curnow,” Sam offered to him gently, pulling Corvo back out of his thoughts. He turned to look at the man before eyeing the girl more thoroughly; she seemed to wilt before hardening under his gaze. “She came here after fleeing her home and has been one of the longer term residents at the pub.”

Something in the name tugged at Corvo's memory, something familiar and kind and competent, and it wasn't long until a face and City Watch uniform swam into the view of his mind’s eye.

“Curnow?” Corvo asked, voice still raspy and abused. “As in, _Geoff_ Curnow?”

Callista’s face lit up at the sound of the name, her eyes wide and shining. Before she could even think better of it, she was rushing forward, reaching out for Corvo's arm.

“Yes, Geoff! He's my uncle, my _only family left and--”_ her eyes dart and she calms her voice down to a breathless mess. “And I need your help, you're the only person I can trust to ask this of--”

“Callista, calm down, the poor guy just got here,” Sam interrupted, and Corvo quickly looked between the two of them. “Let him get changed and cleaned up, at least.”

She jerked away from Corvo as if she was branded, face flushing with embarrassment.

“Of course, of course, I just...Can I at least show him to his quarters?” Callista asked Sam, her hands turning over one another. As soon as Sam gave her a nod, she was turning back to Corvo, demanding his attention. “I was a maid for many years. I readied a place for you as soon as Sam said he was off to-to see if you were even--”

Her voice trailed off but Corvo didn't need her to finish to know they had no idea if he'd even be alive -- or even _human_ \-- when they found him. Her breath was shaky as she straightened herself out, eyes strong and clear despite the red in her cheeks.

“As it is. Would you like to see your room?”

“I--” Corvo looked at Sam again, then back to Callista, his throat closing awkwardly.

Because where else could he go? The Month of Rain was soon to be on them, so staying on the streets would be miserable under Dunwall’s seasonal deluge. Visiting the Tower was useless if Emily wasn't even there. And Void, _Emily was missing_ and he had no leads and no one to turn to but a kind boatman and a runaway housekeep. The city was against him, he had no other contacts.

Large, abandoned and out of the way; the Hound Pits Pub really _was_ the best that Corvo could hope for, given his unconventional position. And really, all things considered, it could be _worse._

He sighed tiredly and nodded to Callista, who wasted no time in gathering his things and leading Corvo upstairs and away from Sam and the bar.

He didn't speak much as they ascended the stairs, opting instead to listen as Callista spoke to fill the creaking silence of the pub. She explained the layout of the building, noting the placement of the bathrooms, of where she stayed, of where Samuel slept -- mostly old servant rooms who had used the rooms before the place was left to rot. Callista noted that some of servants were still here, had stayed simply because they had no place else to go in the whole city, the bar the only home they'd ever known.

“You probably won't see them much though,” Callista explained as they passed the third floor and moved to the fourth. “Mostly because they keep to themselves, and mostly because they were overruled when we said _you_ would be staying and they--”

Callista stopped herself before she went any further down that line of thought, her cheeks flushing. Corvo gave her an odd look, but with her averted gaze and quick addendum of _“well nevermind that”_ the cold realization was quick to set in.

They were _afraid_ of him. The servants, Callista, perhaps also Sam, even if he didn't show it. As they cleared the top landing and faced the attic doorway, that feeling sunk into his bones all the more.

Large. Abandoned. _Out of the way._ And a shady history of dangerous dogs.

Yes, he and the Hound Pits really _were_ one and the same.

Callista only spent a few seconds fumbling with the keys before swinging the door open and letting Corvo wander into the refitted attic and handing him the key. It was dark, lit with whale oil lamps and smelling of pertrichor and smoke and molding wood. He noted the small bed and desk, the way the room connected to another adjacent space, and how the large windows were big enough for him to crawl in and out of.

“It-- we figured this would give you the most privacy, Lord Attano.” Callista stood near the door, gloved hands turning delicately as she fidgeted. “Given your _alleged_ condition, it seemed appropriate. And you can come and go without needing to worry about us or--”

“It's fine, Callista. I'll make sure to stay out of sight and out of mind.”

His tone was defeated, but he could tell by the shock on her face that it came out sharper than intended.

“No, no, that wasn't-- Lord Attano, _please_ understand our intent is not to offend!” Her face went a peculiar shade of red and he couldn't help the confused head tilt in her direction. “It wasn't a fluke that Sam found you. I...when I heard you had escaped Coldridge, I _requested_ for Sam to find you.”

 _“You_ did?”

She nodded furiously.

“We want to help you. Sam is just a kind soul, bless him, but I know you have the potential to stop the Lord Regent, get Emily back, and maybe, help-- Corvo please--”

“I need to find Emily. I don't _need_ to do anything else besides that.”

The words came out as a snarl and he could _feel_ his skin bristle, as if covered in a fur that wasn't even there. The sound was real and guttural and Callista _shrank_ in front of him, instinctively stepping back from his wrath. Her face alone was enough to make shame wash over him like a bucket of cold water and he looked away, deflating.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly.

“It-- it's fine. Understandable, even. You don't want to be used like a houn-- like you're _lesser_ now.”

He notes the fumble of her words, appreciating the mindfulness of the action. It was more than most gave him, even when he was still just the _foreigner._

“I still scare you,” he said, sounding more dismayed than he ever wanted to. “I may never _not_ scare you.”

Callista swallowed, looking him over, but her decision was clear in her set shoulders and determined gaze.

“Yes,” she replied. “I will admit the thought of what you are now frightens me.”

Corvo sobered under the words, eyes darting away for a moment. Callista watched him, her expression softening.

“But whatever you _are_ doesn't frighten me near as much as the thought of losing the only person I still consider family in this wretched city.”

Corvo’s eyes widened. He turned back to her, remembering her earlier words.

“Geoff Curnow. He is--?”

“My uncle. He went on the trip with the Lord Regent around the Isles; you probably met him when he came home after and briefed with you and the Empress.”

Corvo thought back to that day, doing his best to swallow dark memories of giant wolves and pain and _blood,_ to earlier in the day. Geoff had been there, of course: a captain of the City Watch, he was an upstanding and accomplished man in his low thirties. Jessamine had known him for years, and Corvo knew him by proxy as both intelligent and trustworthy.

“Soon after the Empress fell and you were imprisoned, it was _Geoff_ who told me to flee and go into hiding. He must have learned too much on that boat trip because my uncle fears that there's a hit on him too.”

“Burrows is going after Curnow?” Corvo questioned, long legs striding over to cross the space between them. “Do you know where he is, if he's even alive?”

Callista shook her head, her eyes swimming with fresh tears.

“I-I don't know. He's sent word over the months and I know he's alive because he's very slippery; he's not a captain of the City Watch without reason. But I fear they may be catching up to him soon because I haven't heard from him since--”

Her eyes darted to Corvo and then away again and he realized the immediacy of the danger.

“Since after I escaped,” he finished for her. She nodded. “And you say he knew things and that's why Burrows is trying to kill him?”

“I think so. He didn't say what. But Lord Corvo-- Geoff is a _good man._ He was so proud when the Empress entrusted him to the trip with the Spymaster. But you-- well, if you are what they say you are, you may be the only one who can find him.”

Corvo's brain reeled and he backed off, head shaking.

“I don't know Callista,” he growled out. He closed his eyes, feeling the pressure mounting behind his eyes. “I don't know what I am, what I can even _do,_ or if I can even control it, or--”

He took a breath, trying to calm his shaking hands, to not think of the long black claws waiting just under his nails.

“I apologise,” Callista murmured behind him, but he didn't turn to look at her. “I shouldn't have dumped that on you, not when Emily is missing and you nearly drowned in the Wrenhaven. I asked too much and--”

“Your uncle,” Corvo interrupted, trying to steer the conversation a different direction. “Do you think he can help find Emily, get her back on the throne?”

Callista stammered as he turned around to face her, backing away in trepidation.

“I’m…unsure. Perhaps? Clearly he knows things that could undermine Burrows, or why else would the Regent want him dead? He may know where to find Emily-- or at least, where to look.” Her voice softened considerably as her shoulders fell. “He is also a friend of Jessamine. Once he knows I'm here, perhaps he can be an ally to _you,_ as well.”

Corvo swallowed thickly and nodded.

“I will...I will sleep on it, and let you know my decision to help in the morning.”

That seemed to be enough to placate the woman. Her shoulders sagged even further as she sighed out, deflating.

“Of course, Lord Attano. You need your sleep. We can chat more once you've had some deserved rest.”

Corvo nodded in agreement. “And Callista?”

“Yes?”

“It's Corvo. _Just_ Corvo, please.’

“Of course, Lor-- Corvo.”

With that, she bowed, letting herself leave the room and the door close behind her with a click.

Once she was gone, Corvo took a moment to breathe deep, shaking out his limbs. His skin itched and tingled and he hated that everything felt like it was all _too close_ even when it was so far away. It was _foreign,_ his own body; it creaked and pulled and ached in places it never used to, and when he grit his teeth they felt too heavy in his mouth.

One thing was certain however; he was reaching frightening levels _tired._ He had spent so long using every ounce of energy he had fighting to stay alive that he almost forgot was real rest could feel like. Now, for the first time in months, he was able to sleep in a secure place, untied and untethered and on an actual _mattress_ once again. So he padded over to the bed, unceremoniously dropping himself onto it, allowing himself to indulge in the first real bit of shut-eye in far too long.

\------

“Well, well, well, what _have_ you become, Corvo Attano?”

Corvo jolted, rudely awakened and scrambling to his feet, his body giving him more trouble than usual by virtue of being _different;_ too splayed out and too heavy and too _furred._ A flash of glossy black and huge paws sent him into a panic, jerking from his own body as his heart thundered in his ears because _he transformed in his sleep and has no idea how and--_

A hand -- light and cool and smooth as water -- landed gently on his shoulder. It filled him with a sense of _calm_ unlike anything he had known before, setting him adrift and steadying his breath, his heart releasing from the grip of fear. Corvo sucked in a huge breath and was about to thank whoever was hanging by his shoulder when a face suddenly appeared, sending him into a near startled state once again.

Black, endless eyes watched as Corvo backed away, growling in annoyance at the sudden intrusion of space. The figure was shaped like a person but everything about him felt _wrong;_ he smelled of driftwood and sea salt and of things large and powerful and lurking in the deep. Corvo moved to push away whatever this new black-clad, black-haired, black- _eyed_ character was, but found his huge paw slicing through smoking stone and open air. He gaped; the figure dissipated and reappeared a ways away, sitting cross-legged, suspended in midair.

Lips pulled back to reveal fangs as long as a child's forearm. The figure simply frowned, eyebrows pulling together in disappointment.

“Now now, my dear Corvo, that's quite enough,” the boy said, and his voice fell like cascading water. Corvo twitched and stilled, any repeat blows stymied by the simple command. Still, his distrust did not fade along with his interest in attacking, and he continued to eye the character warily and from a distance.

 _“Who are you?”_ He asked, but the words didn't come from his mouth, but somewhere in the back of his mind, a feeling more than a true question. _“What's going on? And--”_

Corvo finally took the time to turn his shaggy head around, feeling ears swivel as he noted sounds and pressure and a place unlike any other: where platforms floated in space, water flowed upwards, rocks held memories and whales howled mournfully in the distance.

 _“Oh,”_ Corvo breathed _“Oh,_ Void.”

“Aha, there it is, he's finally awake!” The figure exclaimed cheerfully, returning to solid ground to walk over to where Corvo was standing. In Corvo's current form, the young man barely came up to his elbow-- or perhaps his waist, if he was standing up fully. However, his svelte form didn't stop the boy from carrying a huge _shadow_ far bigger than even Corvo himself, the true shape of _whatever he was_ swimming just below the surface.

A monster cloaked in the guise of a man, talking to a man cloaked in the guise of a monster. Corvo would have laughed at it all if he had the ability too.

 _“The Outsider,”_ he supplied, remembering the stories of old, the recounted tales from those near death and speaking of a place beyond the veil. He wondered absently if he, too, was dead-- but then, he was now entertaining the audience of a god, and dead men tell no interesting tales. " _To what do I owe this pleasure?”_

The Outsider beamed. The sight of it made Corvo's blood run cold.

“As I believed you would be, you're far more aware in your right mind than out of it,” the Outsider started. He floated up, carefully placing himself at height with Corvo, studying him closely. “But oh, what a strange hand fate has dealt you. Turned by the very wolf that killed your beloved Empress, you're now blamed as the wolf for her murder in his stead.”

The Outsider reached out, cool fingers grazing under Corvo's chin, curling into fur.

“With so much stacked against you, I called you here to help tip the odds in your favor.”

Suddenly, the Outsider's grip tightened and _pulled_ ; Corvo jerked forward just as the burning feeling of energy flowed through him, searing through his veins and down to coalesce in his left palm where a smoking, shining arrowed Mark now blazed bright against his black fur. He stared at it, flexing his fist and feeling a pressure that went much deeper than mere skin, muscle and bone.

 _“What,”_ Corvo snarled, fangs fresh and bared and near snapping at the hand still resting on his jaw. _“Did you_ do _to me?”_

The Outsider, completely unthreatened by this show of ferocity, just stared blankly back.

“I gave you my _Mark_ , Corvo. It allows you to channel the heavy magic that courses through you, allows you to mold yourself and the wolf that is now an integral part of who you are. Go on, see for yourself.”

The being waved his hand at Corvo, gesturing for him to continue. Corvo looked at his hand, looked at the Outsider, and then concentrated. His fist closed and the Void rushed to him; suddenly his limbs were morphing, body shrinking in on itself as joints popped and skin tightened. It was _unpleasant,_ but nothing like when he first changed, when the blinding pain of it near killed him.

He let his hand go, breathed in and stood on his own two booted, _human_ feet, still clothed in whatever he had fallen asleep in. The Mark died on his hand and he looked up, meeting the eye of the deity. The Outsider looked far too gleeful for his own good and Corvo winced, the action making his skin pull and feel too tight as the magic smoked from his body.

“Excellent,” the Outsider told him. “Now understand Corvo, my magic comes from the Void because I _am_ the Void, and it gives you certain abilities that you'll find will... _come to you as you need them.”_

“And how will I know what to call on?”

The Outsider just shrugged.

_“Instinct.”_

Corvo huffed. The Outsider smirked.

“You have my magic and a way to control your new, beastly self. But even with all this, I still have one last gift to give you before I send you back to the waking world.”

The Outsider held out a hand and from it, the stones of the Void came together into a grotesque pile of metal and flesh. Corvo could do nothing but stare in shock as a heart formed, mechanically whispering with every beat of its bloodless chambers.

The Outsider held it out. Corvo didn't move to touch it.

“What is that?”

“It’s a _Heart,_ Corvo, and one with many talents,” the Outsider explained, near pouting at how Corvo refused to grab for it. “What those talents are, you will find out soon enough. For now, know that this heart will be instrumental in finding Emily, as well as finding your way back _home.”_

Corvo's jaw worked: there was something vague in that explanation he didn't trust, but the thought of a tool to help find Emily was convincing enough for him. And really, who was he to decline a gift from a literal _god?_ Carefully, he reached out, taking the Heart from the Outsider's hand.

He expected it to be wet. Instead, the thick muscle felt like leather in his palm, soft and supple and surprisingly warm. He gripped it tight and felt it settle into his palm, sighing as if it _belonged_ there. Something like recognition emanated up from the device and his stomach turned, not wanting to think too much on it.

He pocketed the macabre gift and tried not to be distracted by how he could feel it's heavy, labored beat against his leg.

“Thank you,” Corvo rasped out. “But why are you even daring to help me?”

The Outsider frowned, his head turning sideways to look at him quizzically.

“Why, because you're _interesting_ my dear Corvo. And I want to see what happens next.”

Corvo was then yanked like a fish on a hook out of the vast cold expanse of the Void. In the next beat he was thrown, sweating and panting, back into the waking world, the reality of what happened settling on him like a heavy blanket. Heart hammering, he wasted no time throwing himself from the bed, fist clenching as his feet hit the wooden floor of the attic.

He half-expected nothing to happen; dreams were usually just _dreams,_ after all. But as he pulled his hand down the Void rushed in his ears; his body tightened and then _expanded_ like a releasing coil. From smoke and light his paws and fur and fangs appeared, leaving him feeling rushed and terrified and _powerful_ all in one blow.

The door to the attic knocked. Corvo's massive head turned, nose twitching as Callista spoke from the other side of the wood.

“Corvo? Can I come in? I brought some breakfast and I wanted t-to talk, if we could.”

Corvo closed his fist again, growling as the Void rushed through him in a sensation he was nowhere near used to yet. Out of the smoke and ash his human form emerged, staggered and slightly dazed from the effort. He shook his head, clearing it before letting long strides take him to the door.

When he opened it, he found Callista standing there with a tray of eggs and toast and blood sausage. It was all a little sad and grey, as if over boiled and overcooked. She looked up from the platter, brow furrowing as she caught sight of the look on Corvo's face. It was only then that he realized his face was breathless and _beaming._

“Corvo, what--?”

“I can do it,” he gasped out, body shaking with adrenaline. “I can help you save Geoff.”

_And with him, maybe, just maybe, Emily as well._

Her entire stance melted from stiff concern into sobbing relief. Without a second thought she set the tray down and threw herself at Corvo, leaving the Lord Protector thrown off-balance by the force of the embrace. But he let her have this, holding her gently as she cried out her feelings, because he couldn't help but feel similarly.

Somehow, in this crazy world of death and plague, they had both finally found someone, something, to help. And they were both desperate for it, even if they didn't know exactly what that help entailed just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS if it isn't obvious there are no 'Loyalists' here. My excuse is 'this is three months before the actual Dishonored timeline and I just dont care about the Loyalists.'
> 
> You may see some friendly faces later on, though. wink.


	5. With the Heaviest Guilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for folks who have read this far, I have to let you all know that I didnt realize that Emily in this timeline is 9-going-on-10, and as of this chapter, I've gone back and fixed that in the other chapter. If you're a future reader AFTER this chapter is posted, this note doesn't mean anything to you, but might make sense on why I had to make note of it when you read the chapter. 
> 
> I mean. Just saying. To be honest with the time frame of the games... it's an easy mistake to make.

The past few months hadn't been the worst months Daud's ever lived through, but they certainly weren't his _best_ _,_ either.

He sighed, blue eyes ever sharp, honed like the edge of a blade as he overlooked the flooded Rudshore District he and his Whalers currently called home. It was a quiet night; the rains hadn't yet started in full force, which meant Daud was feeling far too restless, far too caged, and far too lost in his thoughts for his own good.

It gave Daud too much time to focus on the _guilt_ that had plagued him for weeks, sinking into his bones and pulling him down like a blood ox in a mire. It was an ever-present feeling, one that strengthened with each passing day. Worse was the _dread_ that accompanied it, the sense of overlooking something -- but what that something was, he wasn't sure. It left him with zero answers and too much to dwell on, especially since he was taking fewer and fewer contracts while he waited out the inevitable.

Corvo Attano. He _would_ come for Emily -- and for Daud. That was certain; the question now was simply _when_. And with all the brooding Daud was doing lately, he hoped it would be sooner rather than later.

He inhaled deep, instinctively testing the air, searching for that _something_ that his body and heart were missing. With a surge of Void pulled from the mark on his left hand, he let his senses extend outward, eyes and nose and ears sifting through the trails now opened to him, searching for anything that might be of interest.

But nothing called to Daud. No notes of missing familiarity reached him: just the scent of rotting wood, of stagnant water, of people dying of plague, of his bonded wolves as they go about their lives high above the waterways below.

Nothing of _Corvo,_ though; not a whisper on the wind of the man whose life he had single-handedly dismantled. Daud was sure by this point Corvo was dealing with… _changes_ he wasn't used to, with a confusing new life to get a handle of, of emotions and desires that didn't feel like his own.

Corvo was out there, _alone_ _,_ and the anxiety of that thought threatened to suck Daud further down into its murky trap.

He knew Corvo had escaped prison -- Void, he had _helped_ Corvo find the power to even achieve the feat -- but had no idea where he was now _._ The bond that tied them together had strengthened in the last few months-- a new sensation for _both_ of them to deal with, he was sure -- but not enough to pinpoint Corvo's location.

The bonding to Corvo was, for all Daud could tell, an unexpected _side effect_ of the wounds he inflicted on the Royal Protector that led to his subsequent turning. It was completely different from his Whalers: _they_ had volunteered to the change and were at least mildly aware of what that would entail. The power of the Void gave Daud the ability to extend his magic to them, which helped him build his base, his _pack._ But with Corvo…

It was entirely foreign and exceptionally _powerful._ It had taken days to first set in; Daud had woken up in a cold sweat, body screaming with a phantom pain, his back _whipped and burned_ by an invisible attack, one happening simultaneously to a man wrongly imprisoned on the other side of the city. And at the center of all that blinding sensation, one thought rang out loudest:

_Emily. EmilypleasetellmetheydonthaveEMILY!_

It was such a overwhelming urge that Daud succumbed to it entirely _;_ with little explanation he had sent the twins to go fetch the girl before Burrows could lay a greedy hand on her, praying to the Void -- and to the man his mind was melding with -- that they grabbed the young Empress in time.

They had been successful in bringing Emily back unharmed and for a while it gave Daud a sense of peace; Emily was safe with him and fitting in better than expected. But with few follow-up plans and nothing to do but babysit, the guilt and anxiety began to creep up on him once again.

In truth, Daud didn't know if Corvo would kill or spare him for what he'd done. He deserved to die, he was sure, but that didn't mean he was necessarily _prepared_ for it. In hindsight, Daud should have finished the job and put Corvo out of his misery, but there had been no time and little room for error. Jessamine was dead, along with three of his Whalers at Corvo's capable hand. He had no choice but to back out then, had no choice but to just hope Corvo perished to his wounds, bleeding out from those angry red lines gouged deep into the meat of his arms.

Lesser men would have died by the end of the day. Daud should have known how erroneous it was to count Corvo Attano among _lesser men_.

He stood up from his perch in front of the financial building, a statue of Jessamine Kaldwin herself, commissioned the year before the place flooded to the point of condemnation. She looked stoic, hardened; all that Daud saw, however, was the shocked face of that same woman, watching as her bodyguard tried one last time to save her before it was too late to stop Daud's claws from sinking deep into her throat.

 _It had been a quick death,_ he told himself in a desperate plea to quell the bile in his throat. _She barely felt a thing, bled out too quickly to even register her fate._

It still didn't stop the roiling ache in his gut, didn't stop him from regretting…well, damn near _everything._

He sighed and turned inside: his left fist clenched and in a rush of smoke he disappeared, reappearing in his dimly lit quarters. He shook out his steaming hand and grimaced; the powers the Outsider had bestowed on him certainly had their uses, but not without a price. The itch of the Void crawled under his skin like his own fur, an all-too-familiar sensation at this point in his life. The mark may have allowed him the ability to control his wolfish transformation but it didn't stop both from _begging_ to be used, nagging at the back of his mind, always reminding him that he was a thing of muscle and fur and claws and teeth.

Not the human he still pretended to be.

He'd carried this curse for near twenty years now. He used it to build his pack, to find his place in Dunwall's underbelly -- but that didn't make it any more normal or comfortable or _fitting._ He hated what he became, now more than ever for having the audacity to push this curse onto someone _else._

Daud grimaced; for all his years working as an assassin, he had one strict, self-imposed rule: never let a bitten body walk away still standing.

Corvo Attano, however, did just that.

And now, Void-be-damned, he wouldn't get out of Daud’s cursed head.

Daud walked over to his desk, feeling the fur bristling just under the surface with every step. Just another reminder he had been in his human skin for far too long, that the beast below was growing impatient. He ignored his own instincts for now, though; what he wanted to do next couldn't be completed in his lupine body.

On his desk, his aged audiograph sat silently, expectantly. The card it held was currently blank; Daud eyed it for a moment before clicking a gloved finger gently against the recorder.

With a soft _whirr_ the machine came to life, ready to catch every word.

“Corvo Attano escaped Coldridge,” he started, voice rough and grating. “He jumped the fence, as it were, and I'm sure he didn’t have a pleasant landing on the other side. His thoughts have been... _disjointed_ since then, so I haven't been able to locate him. I sent Billie out to scout for him, but so far, Corvo hasn't shown hide or hair of himself.”

Daud paused and licked his lips.

“But it'll only be a matter of time until he comes here: looking for me, for my Whalers, for Emily, for _answers._ But what can I possibly offer him, outside of the safe passage of his daughter so she can ascend to the throne? What could I tell him now, that would make any of this easier to deal with, would convince him not to kill me?”

He felt more than heard the rush of wind outside, of the sound of feet climbing old wood. He ignored it, not stopping for more than a moment before continuing.

“Because I know he'll want to, and not just because of what I did to his Empress. I remember when I first turned: scared of the voice in my head, I had killed the beast with my own hands, had wanted nothing to do with what it was. And now look at me, with my head filled with the voices of my bonded, embracing the form I once hated. I suppose it's now my turn to be slaughtered by the monster of my own making.

“Perhaps it'll be better that way. The Whalers are… they're _mine_ , but when I'm gone I know they can make their way, even without the wolf with them. I can only hope that Corvo will spare them in favor of coming after me and let them move on to future lives.”

A tendril of amusement passed his mind from the across the bond and his lip twitched in response. At least _one_ of them was listening in, but he wasn't paying close enough attention to say exactly _who._

“The girl is safe, at least. I made sure Burrows never got his grimy mitts on her. With her back on the throne and Corvo at her side, well… maybe this wretched, plague-destroyed city will still have a chance to be better after all.”

He finally let the recording end, stopping it with a button press. Behind Daud, he could hear the shuffle of tiny feet, and the scent of lilies and summer greeted his nostrils.

“Daud?”

Daud turned. He hadn't expected the young Empress Emily Kaldwin to enter in on his recording, hadn't thought she would care enough to even listen. Her face, as always, was open, curious; she always asked one question with five others waiting to be voiced.

Absently, he raised an eyebrow before looking over her head and out past the door. He couldn't help but wonder if whichever Whaler who was currently supposed to be watching her knew she had slipped away, or if they had let her go because she had simply _asked_ to.

“Isn’t it a bit late for you to be up and about?” He asked back nonchalantly. As he watched, she studiously straightened, hands behind her back as she lifted her chin in an attempt to appear confident in front of Daud.

“Rulfio said it would be okay,” she stated matter-of-factly. “As long as I didn't get caught.”

“So, does this qualify as getting caught?”

Her nose wrinkled.

“Of course not; I revealed myself. Aren't you an assassin? Don't you know the difference already?”

Daud smirked; some would have found it threatening, the ways his scars pulled and his teeth barely flashed, but Emily was different. She stared giant dogs in the face with little to no fear. Daud was no more intimidating in her eyes.

He had to hand it to the girl; for an Empress in the making, she had plenty of moxie to go around.

He walked over and knelt down to her level. Emily's eyes darted away and she worried at her lip; all the trademarks of a girl thinking she's about to be scolded. Still, she managed to meet his eye as he shrugged in response.

“You got me there; I do know that difference, and you're very good at sneaking around if you got this far and I didn't even notice. So what can I do for you at this hour, Emily?”

She took a deep breath, now finding it hard to face him straight on despite her confidence upon appearing in his office.

“Um, well. It's going to be my birthday soon.”

Daud raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

She nodded, rocking on her heels. “Yeah. I-I'll be ten at the beginning of the month.”

Daud licked his lips, a sense of cold trepidation filling his stomach. “I can't promise Corvo will be here by your birthday.”

The look on her face told Daud he had guessed what she was going to ask for without her even saying it. Emily chewed her lip, eyes watering.

“That’s not-- you're _sure?”_

“I swear I meant it when I said he was out of prison. But Billie is the best I have, and even she isn't sure where he disappeared to.”

Emily took another breath and found her shoes incredibly interesting.

“That’s…that’s fine. You're doing your best, right? D-do you know if he's okay?”

“I don't for sure,” he said softly, but the weight of dismay was heavy on her shoulders. He tried again, shifting on his knee. “But my heart tells me that he'll be just fine.”

“You don't think someone bad found him?”

“No, and I think they’ll have to try their damndest to catch him.”

She smiled then, wiping her eyes dry, and Daud's head tilted, watching her carefully. Something about seeing the girl upset tugged at his heart; he scooted closer, not wanting to touch or scare her.

“I know you miss him,” he said, voice a rough growl even when softened. “But I promise he will come. He could even be on his way now, you never know.”

She huffed out a laugh. “You don't know that. Besides, you said he _wouldn't_ be here for my birthday.”

“I said I couldn't _promise_ he would be here,” he clarified, holding a finger up. “And I don't make promises I can't keep.”

She hummed thoughtfully at that, studying Daud's hand before finally reaching out her palm. Instinctively, he reached out to hold her hand, and she held his palm and traced the lines in the fabric of his gloves.

“You remind me of him a lot,” she said absently. Daud’s jaw clenched tight, but he didn't respond as she continued. “You’re both really good at hiding and seeking, and fighting with a sword.” She made a face and pushed Daud's fingers into a fist.

“Corvo’s _really bad_ at making friends, though.”

Daud barked out a laugh, teeth snapping shut audibly.

“I'm not very good at that either.”

“What do you mean?” She asked incredulously. “You have all the pups with you, they all listen to you, care about you. Aren't they your _friends?”_

 _The_ _pups._ Daud could feel the smirk tugging at his lips before he could even hope to wipe it away.

“The Whalers are different: they're…” his throat cinched shut as the instinctive feeling coursed through him, the bond that tied them all to Daud by a web of unbreakable string.

“Servants?”

Daud grimaced, shaking his head as a growl rippled out of him.

 _“Void,_ no, they are paid but they don't serve me like the maids served you at the tower, nothing like that. They are bound to me, because they chose to be, because they're…”

“Because they're _yours?_ ”

“Yes, they're _mine,”_ Daud snarled; even as he said the words, the magic crackled underneath, a constant undercurrent of the syllables he spoke. It wasn't just a simple declaration of ownership; the Whalers were _his,_ his pack, his clan, his _bonded._ Bristling protectiveness surged through him for just a moment before settling back down again.

Emily was keen to notice, her brow knitting curiously as she frowned.

“So, you own them? Like, slaves?”

 _“No,”_ he stressed, feeling more uncomfortable. He tried again, hoping to assuage her thoughts. “It’s hard to put into words, Emily, but it's _not that._ I would say it's like what you have with Corvo, but even that doesn't truly justify what they mean to me. There is nothing like it. They are...”

 _Family, heart, protection, pack._ The instinct rushed up strong like a bristling line of fur and he pushed it down with a shaking breath. He opened his closed hand; where there was once fingers in a glove, the tips of glistening black claws revealed themselves, extending off inhuman digits.

_“Mine.”_

There was a beat between them as the young Empress took his hand in hers again, undeterred by the sharp new arrivals. Daud clenched his jaw under her scrutiny; he didn't like to acknowledge or give into the ferocious emotional attachment that accompanied his bond, but it was flaring worse than ever with Emily hanging around, with her prying questions and open heart. It kept _reminding_ him his protectiveness was a real emotion, instead of just an side effect of the mark he could choose to ignore.

As if sensing his thoughts, her grin turned toothy and she rocked back on her heels, thinking aloud with another one of those innocent queries.

“Well, can we share?”

Daud stiffened, nostrils flaring.

_“Share?”_

She licked her lips, her fingers tracing the hard pads of his palm.

“Well, maybe _just_ for my birthday. You can have them all other times. But there's plenty to go around, right? And I like them, and you can't just _own_ people you know, so perhaps I can have a few whalers too? Can they also belong to _me?”_

There was something _heavy_ there, hanging on Emily's words. Daud could smell it, could feel it tingle in the air, thick like smoke, making the wolf of him take pause. She truly was a wild thing, barely contained, like the spark of a fire threatening to blaze free if not kept in check.

He looked, really _looked_ at the girl in front of him, and wondered if it wasn't just Corvo’s emotions that compelled him to take her away that day, but instead something greater, something stronger than all of them put together.

This girl...this _Empress,_ was…

“Sure,” he finally said. Slowly, carefully, he turned his half-formed paw over, so that the glowing mark under the oily fur was visible.

“Would you like me to show you how it works?”

He saw the way her eyes lit up, at the grin splitting her face, and he clenched his fist, the energy rising from the mark like steam.

“This mark on my hand gives my powers to other people,” he told her, voice growling as the magic made it hard for him to maintain his form. “But it doesn't work on everyone, and it won't work on you.”

Her eyes flicked from his hand to his face, brows knitted in disappointment.

“Why not?”

“Because you don't belong to me,” he clarified, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “You belong to Corvo; I could never take you from him.”

“That's fair,” she said, nodding in agreement. “But how do you choose who, then?”

“Well, my Whalers never belonged to anyone until they joined me,” he rumbled out, teeth feeling heavy in his mouth. “There has to be a want, a need on their part, and an emotional trigger on mine. Otherwise…”

He shook his hand. The mark abruptly died, leaving his palm eerily dark.

“Otherwise the magic of the bond fails. Not everyone is cut out for it.”

“I don't understand,” Emily said, smoothing the fur down over his mark. “How does this help me? I can't make the pups belong to me through _your_ magic.”

“Maybe not today, but perhaps one day,” he told her, voice rough. “As for your birthday, magic _can_ help. I'll let the Whalers know you are on loan for the day; if you want to do something, they will help facilitate it. They'll effectively be yours-- for the day.”

Emily gasped, eyes sparkling.

“You mean it?”

“I wouldn't lie to you, Empress.”

She grasped at his hand in hers and choked back a cry, fingers digging into the thin fur there.

“Thank you,” she managed out, as if such a small gesture meant the world to her.

“Of course, Emily. Just let me know when.”

“Can I ask something else, Daud?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I sleep here with you, tonight?”

He blinked at her, but when she didn't meet his eye he finally understood why Rulfio had been so easy to let her leave, despite the late hour and dangerous area. It was probably what she originally asked Rulfio all along.

In lieu of a verbal response Daud instead sighed, letting the air out of him like a valve releasing pressure. His body morphed and dissolved in a cloud of smoke; finally he allowed fur to replace skin, for fangs to replace his teeth, for a hulking body to escape the confines of his human visage.

Most people he had met in his life shook in terror of him, when he transformed. The power of magic is a frightening thing, even more so when it turned a person into a giant monster. But the innocence of a child kept Emily armored against such prejudice. Instead she watched, enamored and unafraid, reaching out to run a hand against hot fur as he bowed his scarred and shaggy head to her.

Gently his mind reached out, brushing against hers in solidarity.

_“Of course, Empress.”_

“I'm not Empress yet,” she reminded him while tucking her face into the thick strands of his neck.

 _“Not today,”_ he said, curling his warm body around her. She settled against him like a pillow. _“But perhaps one day.”_

The power of his words shook across the connection and she nodded, believing him. It wasn't long after that her mind smoothed out into the even rhythm of sleep, and he pulled his thoughts away from hers as his body shifted closer around her small body.

As he did so, another mind brushed across his across the Bond; a moment of annoyance and humor flickered into his awareness and his ears perked as another large wolf melted into his room.

_“Getting sentimental in your old age?”_

Ruddy fur burned away to reveal a crimson coat and dark mask, the glass of the eye sockets glowing against the dim light. Daud huffed and rolled his eyes as Billie stood, wiping away the final tendrils of smoke from her arms.

 _“Hardly,”_ he stated, but the amusement didn't let up from across the Bond, and his nose curled. _“You're back late. No sign of our escapee?”_

Billie shook her head, her face unreadable from behind the mask.

“No, sir. It seems like the river dragged Corvo Attano off elsewhere. I think someone else may have found him first, and I didn't want to intervene or reveal myself.”

Daud's glowing blue eyes trained on her.

_“Who? One of Lizzie’s men?”_

“A river boatman. No affiliation. He appeared harmless… he didn't reek of Burrows, at least. I didn't see where he took him.”

Daud huffed, thinking this over.

_“That's a start, at least. Was the other lead looked into?”_

“I have Devon and Kieron on follow-up in the Distillery District as we speak.”

 _“Good work, Billie,”_ he told her, and had to fight against the feeling of fondness suddenly bubbling up across their bond. His second-in-command felt it anyway; he saw it in the stiffening of her posture, the shift of her feet.

“Going soft with a kid around,” she murmured, and his lip curled in response.

 _“You're dismissed, Billie,”_ he growled, bristling.

Billie managed to stifle a laugh, bowed, and disappeared in a flurry of smoke and ash. He felt her mind retreat and sighed, tucking himself tight against the tiny frame of the future Empress. A tiny drop of his earlier dread returned, nagging at his emotions while Emily shifted back into his heavy fur.

 _Soft._ He had never considered himself such, but then again he never saw himself as _hard_ either. Disciplined, intimidating, competent, sure. But the way Billie addressed him anymore felt like he was lacking in those traits, losing his edge.

Was he, though? Did he _need_ to kill to prove he was, in any way, _dangerous?_ Or worth following?

He growled deep in his throat, hating how loud his thoughts felt. Quickly, he closed off his mind from any intrusive Whalers who may have felt his emotional turmoil and gotten curious. He didn't need any more questioning looks than what he already had to endure the past two months.

He just needed Corvo to _get here._ Sooner, rather than later. Then he could figure out what would happen next, what he should do with himself, because killing just didn't appeal to him like it used to. Assassinating didn't matter when he had a future ruler to protect, with her mother's blood on his hands, and her father’s grief in his heart.

 _The Empress really was different,_ he mused bitterly, before finally curling up and surrendering himself to sleep.


	6. With an Open Heart

It was a while before Corvo ventured downstairs to the bar after Callista left him to his breakfast in the attic. He had let her go after they had briefly spoken that morning: he still _desperately_ needed to eat and clean up. And while it felt good to finally be rid of the sweat of Coldridge and the grime of the Wrenhaven, the bath he drew up left him feeling all out of sorts.

First off, the scent of soap was _pungent_ in a way it never had been before. It got rid of the dirt, to be sure, but it washed away the smell of _himself_ and replaced it with a sharp, overpowering odor. It filled his nose in a way that burned; he mused on requesting a softer soap, maybe something less perfumed and more neutral. It would be better to smell of nothing than of something so strong it gave him a headache.

Second, his body was just so _different_ now and bathing was really the first time he had allowed himself to look and understand what had really changed. Outwardly, he didn't look _that_ much different: his build was thinner from months of malnutrition and his hair was due for a trim, but that wasn't what unsettled Corvo the most. Instead, it was the _sharpness_ of everything: of his eyes, of his teeth, of all his muscles and bones and edges. From one view, he looked normal: from another, he barely recognized himself,  instead glimpsing the wolf barely concealed under his skin.

It was so dissociative it made his stomach flip and his heart pound. He tried not to think too hard on it.

Truly, the biggest visual difference was his _arms:_ streaking across both triceps and ending near his shoulders were long, deep scars, four for each arm. No doubt they were from when the giant wolf that had killed Jessamine and turned him, a lasting reminder of what he endured that day.

He frowned, running a few tentative fingers over the sensitive flesh, noting how the skin was healed into deep valleys. The nerves under the scars bunched into huge concentrations of magical energy: just brushing across them made his claws itch to grow, his body aching for fur and teeth. Corvo's jaw clenched tight against the shiver snaking down his back, willing his body to stabilize. The growl rumbled out _\-- too deep, too guttural --_ and he hastily covered the gouged lines with a shirt before the feeling got any worse.

From somewhere in the back of his mind, a flash of bemusement made itself known -- a totally foreign emotion that was completely detached from his current state of mind. He stiffened and tried to focus on the intrusion, but as soon as his mind reached for it, the feeling was gone, fleeing and disappearing as quick as it came.

Corvo took a deep breath, doing his best to steady himself. He looked around; despite the privacy of the powder room, he no longer felt alone. Skin crawling, he changed the rest of the way as quickly as he could, wanting to get out of his head sooner rather than later.

At least his Royal Protector coat was dry by the time he emerged from the bathroom. Being dirty but not rancidly so, the garment still carried _his_ scent, making the worn, heavy fabric a comfort as he worked his way down to the main floor.

That was, of course, until he realized that someone _new_ was waiting there for him.

He was talking with Sam and Callista when Corvo walked in and Corvo immediately turned his eyes to him. A squirrelly man hiding behind round glasses, he spoke fast and high and smelled of grease and machines, of wood and something like whale oil. He also seemed to have no sense of personal space; he leaned far too close to Callista and her pained and uncomfortable look made Corvo's hackles rise.

Corvo's arrival, however, became a welcome distraction. The stranger noticed him and immediately jumped to his feet, walking over to Corvo in a skittering fashion that reminded his hindbrain far too much of the rats that bit _back._

“Oh, Corvo, just the, ah, _man_ I was looking for!” He stumbled over the word as he offered a hand to shake. Corvo glowered down at it, making no move to reciprocate. That seemed to be enough of a hint; the man laughed hesitantly and backed off.

_“He doesn't bite, does he?”_  Corvo saw him mouth back to Callista and Samuel, and Samuel was quick to catch Corvo's annoyed eye. Sam cleared his throat, motioning to the man.

“Corvo, I hope you slept well. Let me introduce you: this is Piero Joplin, inventor and general tinkerer. He lives next door and keeps the place running for us.”

“Slept fine, thank you Sam,” he growled out, pushing past the new arrival unceremoniously. He sat down next to Callista at the bar; flanked now by both Sam and Corvo, she visibly eased. “Callista informed me last night her uncle is in a dire situation, so I may be heading out soon.”

“Oh, leaving already?” Sam said, a hint of dismay in his voice. Corvo's lip twitched; he would have found Sam's sentimentality fake if he didn't already know he was being entirely genuine.

“I think it should be a return trip, seeing as Callista would enjoy reuniting with her uncle again.”

“Ah! A mission,” Piero chimed in. “Corvo, I knew this was inevitable, it's why I came looking for you.”

Corvo tried to ignore Joplin as he tutted over, already tired of the man, but when Joplin fished something out of his jacket and handed it over, Corvo found his interest renewed.

“What,” he breathed out, eyes catching on the metallic glint. “is _this?”_

“It's a mask,” Joplin explained quickly, gingerly setting it down on the bar. “I made it after a fitful bout of dreams. It started as a sort of muse but now I'm _sure_ it is for you. The whole city believes you are the Empress’ killer, so if you need to go out into the streets, you might as well do it with your face covered.”

Sam and Callista leaned over to also catch a glimpse of the mask. It was a crude, grotesque skull; dressed in folded metal over a piecemeal frame, sewn together with wire more than welded. It grimaced up at the motley group, glass lenses shining in the light, giving the toothless smile a macabre sort of life to it. Corvo lifted it in his hand, finding it surprisingly light.

Sam hummed in approval while Callista turned her nose up, scoffing.

“You said you saw this in your _dreams?”_ She sniffed out, watching as Corvo turned it over in his hands. “More like out of a _nightmare,_ if you ask me.”

“Dreams,” Corvo remarked dryly, thinking of his own last night. “Interesting.”

“The lens is adjustable,” Joplin went on to explain. “You can use it to scope, if needed. If I understand correctly, with your condition you could easily hide your face by simply transmorphing, but this is good for when you still want to stay completely anonymous.”

“It will certainly make what I need to do easier,” Corvo agreed, storing the mask in his inner coat pocket. He cast an absent eye at Joplin who seemed to wilt under the direct eye contact.

“Thank you. What do I owe for this favor?”

Joplin twitched so forcefully his glasses nearly fell off.

“W-what? Lord Corvo you owe nothing, it was simply a personal project that got out of hand and proved useful, it's not-- nothing please.”

Corvo frowned, throwing an eyebrow at the lot of them.

“You're providing room and board, I'm using your food and water. Even if I'm out of sight, there should still be some sort of--”

Callista put a hand on his arm, drawing his attention away.

“Being able to bring back my uncle is more than enough payment, Corvo,” she offered gently. “You don't have to do anything more.”

His stomach twisted unpleasantly but he didn't press the issue. He swallowed down his pride on the matter and nodded, silently vowing to bring back _something,_ either before or after Emily was reinstated on the throne.

Taking his nod as resignation enough, Callista pulled a piece of paper out of her shirt and placed it in Corvo's palm. He unfolded it: it was an address, one located just outside the Tower district, near the bridge.

“This is Geoff's apartment here in the city,” she explained. “I don't know where he is, but if there was any place to start, that would be it. He tends to keep a thorough work journal, which he stores in his home office desk. It could give you some clues on where he is, maybe why I haven't heard from him, if he's even still okay…”

She trailed off, her face going pale as she pursed her lips together. Corvo didn't need a vivid imagination to know what she was possibly thinking. He tucked the address into a satchel, nodding.

“Got it. I'll head out this afternoon, though how I'm going to get close to the bridge without being seen, I'm unsure.”

Sam cleared his throat, looking positively smug as he adjusted his scarf and lapels.

“I think I can help with that, Lord Corvo, if you're willing to take it.”

\------

“I'll get you as close as I can, Corvo, but it'll still be a ways to the apartment,” Sam said to Corvo as he steered his boat through the waterways. In front of them at a distance the Kaldwin Bridge loomed: tall, imposing and indomitable, it was commissioned by Jessamine's father and was the largest bridge over the Wrenhaven.

It was also teeming with guards and crackled with the energy of Sokolov’s Wall of Light. Above the streets, the sound of the citywide announcements boomed ominously:

_“Be on alert, Dunwall citizens! The criminal and heretic known as Corvo Attano, responsible for the death of our fair Empress, has escaped prison. If spotted, do not approach, and instead notify your local Overseer or Watch Guard immediately!”_

It continued on, speaking of plague and curfew, but it always rotated back to him, and he shuddered under the weight of the city's hatred.

“You're a pretty popular topic these days,” Samuel mused lightly, but the worry crossed his face as he looked back to Corvo. “You going to be okay out there?”

Corvo eyed the riverbank, searching for a good route to the rooftops. In his pocket, he felt a foreign beat next to his own; he ignored it for now and instead reached in next to it, wrapping warm fingers around cold metal. He pulled the mask out and eyed it carefully before turning it over and allowing himself to disappear behind it.

It was a simple thing -- no magic involved -- but when Corvo slipped behind the mask and adjusted the lens, he felt something _else_ rise up in his chest, and his earlier anxiety fled in the face of a newfound confidence.

He nodded to Sam in response, his body thrumming with energy.

“I'll be fine,” he rasped out, voice already morphing into a growl. “Wait here, I'll be back soon with news.”

Sam nodded back, quietly tying his boat down, hiding it in the shadow of the bridge.

“Good luck, Corvo.”

Corvo jumped lightly onto solid ground, eyed his trajectory carefully, let his claws grow, and pulled the power of the Void into his hand.

The Outsider had told him that he would know how to use his powers when the time came for it; _on instinct,_ the deity had said, amusement coloring his words. He let that instinct flow into him now, tugging at the magic coursing through his veins, and directed what was gathered into his palm.

With a sigh and whisper of Void, his body dissolved and rushed forward in a trail of smoke and light. He reached his destination in an instant, his claws and feet reemerging from the magical fog around him. Corvo gasped, letting the air find his lungs once again as his head wrapped around the dizzying effects of what just happened.

He chanced a glance back behind him; the boat sat meters away, with Samuel eyeing him curiously. Sam waved; in another clench of his fist, Corvo was rushing away, the wind howling in his ears as he pushed forward again, more wraith than wolf or man. He coalesced and leapt again, quickly finding the rooftops, where he could own the city skyline.

It was heady; it was _powerful._ Corvo surged himself onward; deep in his chest, something pulled and _sang_ and relished in this freedom, pure and adulterated. The wolf in him _begged_ to come out fully, to be more than just claws and teeth hiding behind mask, to leap and howl and hunt and _scream._

He settled for laughing, loud and long and rough, muffled by the mask but the sound still rang true in his ears. It all felt so _right,_ like he was a teen in Karnaca again, with his body just as agile and able. He found himself wanting to do nothing more than just relish in this feeling for the rest of the day, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, impossible to catch or corner.

A heavy and rhythmic _thump_ beat against his chest as he moved, louder and louder as he traveled, filling his thoughts and countering his own heart. He slowed, caught his breath and willed himself back to reality.

Geoff's apartment. He needed to find it.

The thump in his coat grew more insistent.

From behind his mask, Corvo's jaw clenched. Carefully, he took the Outsider's _other_ gift out of his pocket, peering down upon the mechanical monstrosity known only to him as the Heart.

It had a clockwork sort of face, a glass window behind which cogs of metal and steel turned with each beat. He wasn't sure if the beat of the Heart kept the cogs turning, or if the turn of the cogs kept the Heart beating. He grimaced at it, involuntarily squeezing the leathery surface, wondering what the whale-wolf god was possibly thinking when he gave Corvo this item, what it could even _do_ for him.

Against the pressure of his palm, the Heart sighed. And then, it _spoke._

_“This city, your face… both are now equally unrecognizable. But is the change skin deep, or does it burrow to corrupt the very core?”_

Corvo stiffened, breath hitching as his eyes widened. The voice was more in his head than in his ears. It was distantly feminine. And disturbingly _familiar._

His grip tightened again, and the whisper of a voice drifted from the Heart as its beat quickened.

_“Where have the good men and women gone? I know many secrets, many pasts, but not the future.”_

“What,” he choked out to the Heart, hating how his voice shook. “What do you mean? What are you saying?”

_“Your thoughts are in disarray. The city has turned on you, has transformed you. You need allies, now more than ever.”_

“Allies...Geoff,” he concluded, trying not to dwell on the other truths of the Heart, nor on the voice it was speaking with. He looked away from the Heart and felt a sense of amusement from it, followed by affection. It was so warm and soft in his hand, as if molding to his palm because it belonged there. It beat against his hand and he felt it nag at his mind. He looked back at it, snarling from behind his smiling mask.

“The Outsider said you'd help me find my way home,” he said to it. “I know its not _home,_ but ...can you also point the way to Geoff Curnow?”

_“Geoff Curnow,”_ it sighed out. _“A friend, an honest man, one of few left in a world that stamps out any dignity it finds.”_

Corvo opened his mouth to question, but like a compass, the heart began to beat towards the path he needed to take, it's pace hastening as he headed the right direction. With tentative steps and careful jumps Corvo made his way across the rooftops, far above the cobbled and plague-ridden streets below.

As he slowed his speed to move less recklessly, Corvo gave himself a few moments to investigate Dunwall proper. The area of housing around the Bridge varied in quality; the high lives of the nobles lived in near isolation, islands in a desolate and plague-destroyed sea. The manors somehow managed to stay clean, with well manicured landscaping even in the middle of the city.

Past the wealth and radiating outward, the deterioration was exponential. Corvo noticed the prevalence of condemned buildings, of the weepers that hobbled in the sewer walkways under the city, of the increase of gang members, of the violence of the City Watch against the citizens they were supposed to protect.

_“These are dark days,”_ the Heart mourned. _“The sickness drapes over Dunwall like a burial shroud. Oh, how her people suffer!”_

Corvo swallowed and couldn't help but agree. Jessamine had tried desperately to help her people and stop the onslaught of plague that had appeared a few years ago, but in her absence, the city had spiraled.

_“There is more than one kind of wolf prowling these streets,”_ the Heart added, and Corvo said nothing to refute it. He moved on and so did the Heart, the beat of it coaxing him onward to his destination.

It wasn't long after that Corvo stumbled upon the apartment he was looking for. In fact, he almost passed it by; the place was nondescript but well-kept; if anything, nothing more than the average living space. Corvo leaned over the roof and peered down onto the fifth story balcony, checking the area as the Heart beat wildly in his pocket.

A sharp inhale told him nobody was home. Carefully, he slipped down onto the balcony, landing lightly and without a sound, making sure to not disturb any of the potted plants. He looked at them curiously; they were dry, left out in the hopes of the coming rains, but not so dry that they hadn't been left out for more than a day. Quietly, he stepped over any fallen leaves, crouched down and crossed the apartment threshold.

Whoever Geoff Curnow was in his private life, it certainly wasn't lavish. Moderately furnished with more than a few shelves covered in details and papers, Geoff held a few heirlooms here and there, signs of his family, or perhaps his interest in the military. A few paintings lined the walls of the living space; Geoff appeared to be a fan of boats, as well as plants.

Corvo breathed carefully, letting his senses do the bulk of the investigative work. It was dusty, but not overly so; as if the air had been turned off for the day with just a ceiling fan left on to lazily circulate. The space was neat as well; not ransacked or stolen. There were dirty dishes in the kitchen sink but no food on the counter. Overall, no signs of a struggle.

And still, the Heart beat incessantly in his hand.

“What do you want me to find,” he muttered at it irritably.

_“If you cannot find it,”_ the Heart offered, _“perhaps it is unseen.”_

Corvo huffed; that was entirely unhelpful and completely arbitrary advice. He stuffed the object back into his inner pocket, hoping to focus -- when his eye caught the jet black indentations of the mark on the back of his left hand.

He stared at it, lip curling unconsciously as he flexed his fingers. Gently the magic unfurled from the mark like steam, and fingers were replaced with long black claws.

_Instinct,_ he caught himself thinking. Silently, he closed his eyes, breathed, and called for the Void.

He gasped; the magic flowed outward and so did his senses, pulsing out to reveal an unseen mosaic of information. He staggered as scent trails bombarded his mind, as items vibrated and glowed in his vision, of sounds reverberating in his ears and off the walls.

His brain reeled. He shook his hand out with a growl; the trails disappeared and left him with just the bare level of the apartment.

_“The Void reveals many secrets,”_ the Heart mused thoughtfully. Corvo frowned at it, growling.

“Not funny,” he said, teeth clashing. It seemed to amusedly disagree.

Nevertheless, Corvo steadied himself, called the Void to his hand and tried again.

This time, it was easier. His nose was strained but he could focus now, picking out and prioritizing important scents and spots. A particularly strong scent led Corvo to an adjacent side door; Geoff's bedroom. It was here that Corvo realized the scent was of Geoff himself: through the veil of the Void it was a heady mix of sweat, of sea salt and aged wood and mountain rain. The lye of his soap sat sharp in his nose, while the bergamot of his aftershave created a pleasant undertone. A handkerchief near the bed was particularly strong with it; Corvo examined the fabric before storing it in a satchel, hoping to commit it to memory later.

Slowly, the layer of the Void lifted from his senses, letting him examine the room more naturally. It was a standard bedroom, complete with a bed and side table, a few articles of clothing strewn here or there. At the far end of the room a desk sat, covered in paper and notes written in a hasty hand. Unable to stop his curiosity from bubbling up, Corvo beelined over to investigate.

Callista had mentioned a diary that Geoff kept for work, so Corvo spent a bit of time looking for any semblance of the book. Within the desk drawer he found just that; the small moleskine journal sat clasped and closed; Corvo opened it, flipping carefully through the pages.

_“He had a male lover, once,”_ the Heart added. _“He killed, to keep it secret.”_

“Well aren't you just a fount of knowledge,” Corvo murmured back to it. It didn't reply, however, so instead he went back to the book, looking for any clues to Geoff's whereabouts.

Finally, he was able to find what he was looking for, on the very last page.

 

_26th Day, Month of Nets_

_Life has been hectic, the plague just keeps getting worse, and now the Royal Protector is out of prison and at large. And yet, I still worry more about my men and Callista than I do for myself. Perhaps that's why I can tell Burrows is going to make a move soon. Not because Corvo is out of prison and I know unsavory information, but because I'm going soft, I'm less diligent now. Maybe I finally just got tired of running._

_Campbell approached me at work; wants to have a meeting. He says it has to do with getting more Overseers into the streets to help along with the Watch. And it is tempting: the plague is wearing my men thin. But I know what Campbell’s involvement in all this is, so I have to expect the worst._

_Either way, I'm a man of my word. I'll meet the High Overseer tomorrow, at the Abbey. It wouldn't look good to disappear now. I just hope I don't disappear soon after._

 

Corvo's throat caught as he swallowed. The 26th Day of Nets? Was it that far into the year already? He knew that he had been in prison for at least two months, and that it wasn't yet the Month of Rains… but how open was his window of opportunity, here? Was he already far too late to help Geoff?

The placed still held his scent, and the plants weren't too long neglected, so perhaps… perhaps there was still a chance that he wasn't too late.

Quickly, Corvo stashed the book into his satchel. Without a word he turned to leave, walking back to the balcony as fast and as quietly as he could. He looked out over the street, fist clenching as he called to the Void. He thought he heard a shout from somewhere below, but it didn't matter; he was gone, his figure dissolving and jumping up to the roof in a blink of an eye. Claws scratched against the stonework tiles, gaining traction as he leapt his lithe body forward again.

It was already past midday and Corvo didn't want to waste any more time. His hand glowed with the magic of the Mark as his skin flowed off of him, smooth as silk. In its place fur sprouted, his limbs grew, his body doubled in size. Another leap through smoke and his lupine form emerged, whole and filled with magical energy. 

The sensation was entirely different from when he transformed in the prison. This felt real, _natural;_ unpleasant, but not painful. Like changing out of a too-tight outfit. He surged onward, the power of his limbs intoxicating as he easily traversed building after building, keeping the silhouette of the bridge in his sights.

_“You may change, but you stay the same... A heavy heart always did beat in your chest.”_

Something sad panged in him: the words of the Heart, stored in his ribs amongst the magic as he traveled. The soft statement was bittersweet, but he had no time to dwell on it.

Someone was going to die. He needed to make sure that didn't happen, not again.

He was human again when he finally landed in Samuel's boat, the smoky tendrils rising from his body like steam. Sam started as he appeared, jerking out a doze as the mask turned a sharp, glassy eye on him.

“Corvo!” He exclaimed, before clearing his throat and looking around. “Is everything alright, did you find the apartment?”

“Yes,” he rasped out, voice heavy from exertion. “And we have another stop to make.” Corvo steadied himself, pulling the mask up and off his face.

“How close can you get me to the Abbey of the Everyman?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't have much to add for now, except to say thank you SO MUCH for all the support for this story. Truly, I can't believe how many people are enjoying this thing that is growing beyond itself so quickly. Every time I post, I'm so happy and look forward to every comment on every chapter. You're a great crowd, truly. 
> 
> More to come soon~!


	7. With Roving Feet and Restless Hands

Holger Square was dark by the time Sam and Corvo neared the Abbey Offices. By boat it had been a careful excursion on all accounts, but Sam's mastery of the waterways saw them through safely; every small estuary was utilized, helping them keep a low profile. Even in the golden light of the dying day they weren't looked upon twice, and if there were a few curious stragglers Corvo was quick to blink away and knock the bystander unconscious.

Now, as they neared the offices of Dunwall's religious elite, that sour anxiety hiding in Corvo's stomach reared its ugly head. He was about to try and infiltrate a place that would rather see someone like him hanged and dead. Which wasn't much different from the last time he visited, but at least with Jessamine he had been greeted with an open front door, any whispers about his heritage kept behind raised hands and closed doors.

He didn't expect such a placid welcoming this time around. Carefully eyeing the imposing compound, Corvo slipped his mask back on, allowing the lenses to adjust.

“I'm not sure what to expect when I head in,” he muttered to Sam, who had tied his boat to a nearby waterway, out of the sight of the watchtowers and guards skirting the perimeter. “If I'm not back out in a few hours time, expect the worst. And if there's a commotion, if there's alarms of any sort…”

“I'll be out of sight the whole time, Corvo,” Sam reassured. “Don't worry about me, you just worry about getting ol’ Curnow out safely. I'll watch for you and head to a safe location around the back of the offices.”

Corvo nodded as he flexed his wrist, preparing to jump to a new, higher location. He breathed deep and swallowed: as much as it twisted his stomach, he could tell these new Void powers would come in handy for this mission.

On the exhale, he disappeared.

The Void surged within him as he smoked past the guards and some tallboys One of the stilted men exclaimed as he rushed past, but Corvo was gone before he could register what happened. Another trail of smoke later and he was atop a low roof, clutching his clawed left hand close to his chest. His palm _burned_ with Void and he flexed his fingers, breath ragged and labored.

It was taking more effort than Corvo expected. Was there a limit to how much he could do, could achieve? He closed his eyes and exhaled, trying hard to steady his body. He needed to pace himself. It wouldn't do any good to run out of steam before even reaching the interior of the Square's outer gate.

“Did you hear about what Teague got caught doing?”

Voices drifted up to Corvo's perch and his breath caught, his body flattening against the tiles instinctively. Below, the voices of two passing Overseers exchanged news, completely unaware of their supernatural eavesdropper.

“Again? What was it this time? By the Void, I don't know how that man became an Overseer…”

“Perhaps they like to use him as an example of what happens when the Strictures _aren't_ followed,” the other mused. Corvo peered over the edge of the roof; below him, two Overseers in their golden, grimacing masks passed by.

“This time they found him in the High Overseer’s room, snooping about.”

Corvo watched the other Overseer jerk.

“He was spying on the High Overseer? Does he have a wish for death? Or is he just that much of an imbecile?”

“Hard to say; they stuck him in the square stocks for now, though. He keeps raving that Campbell is a heretic but if he keeps that up, _he'll_ be the one branded and thrown out of the Abbey.”

“Good riddance, if you ask me.”

The two Overseers walked off, leaving Corvo to stew in his thoughts. His nails clicked against the roof tiling; whoever this _Teague_ was, he suspected Campbell of conspiring with heretics. If Corvo could find him, he could perhaps be beneficial.

Silently he lifted his head, studying the gate to Holger Square carefully. It wasn't long before he found an unseen route inside-- sneaking past guards who didn't know what to look for was all too easy, and soon he was slipping into the main courtyard and staying well out of sight of the watchtowers. It was there that the figure of Teague became apparent: a stockade was set up in the center, where he was locked in by his neck and wrists, forced down to his knees. As Corvo melted himself into the shadows, he watched  another Overseer approach Teague’s scowling and unmasked face.

“Chained up again, Martin?” The other Overseer sighed out. Even from his vantage point, Corvo could see Teague's dark eyes squint lazily up at his fellow Abbeyman.

“Perhaps the High Overseer gets a kick out of seeing me on my knees,” he drawled back, which prompted a swift scoff from the Overseer.

“Stop saying things like that, Teague! When will you learn the Abbey will kick you out for having such a Lying Tongue and Errant Mind?”

“Not until I get to the bottom of this, Iverly. Then, the Abbey can do with me as it wishes.”

“As you say, Teague, but I'll have no hand in your fate this time,” the other man said, and Martin could do nothing but bow his head. Iverly left, leaving Martin to slump in his chains, alone and exposed in the main courtyard.

Corvo clenched his fist, letting the Void stretch out and reveal its hidden truths to his senses. No other Overseers were near; just their old scent trails lingering from when they last came and went.

Under it all there was a hint of bergamot oil and lye, a scent quite similar to the one in Corvo's satchel.

He was getting close. He was running out of time.

In a flash of light and ash Corvo rushed forward, appearing in an instant before Teague Martin. The chained man started, his eyes widening as they found the wild form of Corvo and snarling face of his mask.

“What--” Teague gasped out as Corvo stepped closer, his hands shaking out of their deadly claws. Martin's eyes tracked the action, narrowing in suspicion.

“You're him, aren't you.” It wasn't a question and Corvo offered no answer. Instead he knelt down, eyes scanning the locks on the wood and metal. Teague rolled his eyes.

“If you're here to kill a man of the clergy, you might as well get it over with,” Teague muttered out, squirming as Corvo's face jerked over to peer at him. “Agh, that _mask._ Really?”

“I’ve heard quite a bit about you, Teague,” Corvo rasped out, voice quiet and broken. “You were seen snooping in the office of the High Overseer.”

“And why would a heretic like you care about the High Overseer?” Teague asked, but his eyes now showed more interest than fear.

“I'm here to find a friend before it's too late,” Corvo snarled out. “And to find the evidence we _both_ know Campbell has that reveals he conspires with wolves.”

Teague's mouth twitched, a hint of feral hiding under a controlled smile.

“His office is in the center of the building. He's scheduled to have a meeting with the Tower District's Watch Captain within the hour.” Teague squirmed against the bonds and shot Corvo an eyebrow. “There's a small black book he carries that I know has evidence for his heretical behavior.”

“And what do you get out of this?” Corvo snarled.

“Well a man of my stature can't give something for nothing in return,” Martin said coyly, motioning to his locked state. “If you can get me out of this thing, I promise I can offer more than just some simple scheduling information.” His finger pointed to Corvo's left hand. “I know more about that Mark than you do.”

Corvo regarded him carefully, before finally nodding.

“I'll be back later then,” Corvo said plainly. That seemed to be enough for Teague, who grinned.

“You can turn into one of those dogs, then? There's a kennel that opens to a basement under the High Overseer’s office. That's your best route in.”

Corvo growled out a thanks, but Martin simply shrugged as best he could, given his compromised position. Corvo tried to protest, but at the other end of the courtyard, new voices floated over. Teague's eyes widened while the Royal Protector stiffened next to him.

“Get out of here,” Martin hissed, and Corvo didn't need telling twice. The locked Overseer nudged his head towards the back right corner and Corvo slipped away, melting into shadow again. His breath caught as he listened; the Overseers stopped by Teague -- who began to chat with them loudly, giving Corvo the cover needed to slip through the doors and down to the wolfhound kennels.

The kennels were lowly lit and mostly deserted when Corvo entered, but he could smell the dogs, could hear the growls as their eyes turned to him. Their cages were lined together in two rows, stretching back into the darkness of the basement. From the storage area of the kennels, an Overseer's voice softly cooed to the dogs to calm them in their cages.

Corvo crouched to his knees, hugging the wall as his hand carefully searched. It didn't  take long to find what it was looking for: a switch for the lights. With an easy flick they powered down, throwing the basement into darkness.

In the concealing gloom, Corvo Attano called to the Void and let his human skin smoke away.

It was harder to force his body into a smaller, more compact form, but he knew what he needed and his Mark let him mould his body to his will. So by the time the kennel hand reactivated the lights, he was surprised to see a strange, huge hound standing before him in the basement.

The Overseer jumped, startled, and immediately looked around. Probably searching for Corvo's handler, or if one of the cages accidentally opened when the lights shut off. All the while, Corvo's senses fought for control as he stared the Overseer down, head cocked and long ears laid back.

“Hey there big fella, are you one of our hounds?” The man asked gently, mask unable to hide his soft, nervous fondness. Corvo's nose twitched as his large paws splayed out, distributing his new weight. “You don't look like one of ours…”

As the Overseer’s voice spoke, something else reached Corvo's ears, growing with a ferocious intensity.

_“Intruder? Intruder. Foreign dog. Not dog, no no, wolf. There is a wolf, WOLF!”_

Corvo's breath hitched; his head whipped around and his ears swiveled as the growlings of the wolfhounds suddenly morphed into _words,_ their voices muttered and angry. Corvo realized with a sinking dread that he could _understand them._

The Overseer heard them too, their voices still just growls and barks to his human ears. He turned to calm them: as soon as the hound keeper's eyes were off him Corvo pounced, tackling the man to the ground and choking him out with a paw to the throat. Corvo's lip curled; the poor man smelled of sweat and fear as he slipped into unconsciousness. As the Overseer’s startled voice sputtered and quieted, the dogs grew more frantic, their anger palpable in Corvo's large, sensitive ears.

_“WOLF! Leave the human! Fight us! We will show you our fangs!”_

Corvo did his best to ignore them, instead opting first to drag the Overseer to a corner and out of sight. Then, he allowed his form to grow larger, his shoulders bulking out, hearing his bones pop as they snapped back into place.

And still, the dogs barked.

That is, until Corvo stepped back out of the smoke and shadows.

The first of the hounds caught sight and scent of him and _whimpered,_ their angry growls choking down to terrified apologies. Corvo was _much_ larger now, raven fur bristling as he stalked through the rows of dogs like a living ghost. He was as silent as the dead as he passed the kennels, the once-brave hounds cowering from him with licked noses and tucked tails.

Unlike the dog back in Coldridge, these hounds weren't meant for the pit, where self-preservation and survival was bred and trained away. These wolfhounds were formidable, but they still had their wits.

They knew better than to die today.

Corvo passed them by, leaving barely a whisper on the wind when he reached the end of the kennels. He called to the Void, before turning the laughing face of his metal mask back to the rows of hounds. Even as a human they still watched him, their whines the only noises escaping them.

 _“Both a hound and man,”_ the Heart whispered in his mind, _“you are like a god to the Abbey's dogs.”_

Corvo grimaced. He was no god. And he certainly couldn't still call himself a _man._

“And here I thought you mutts were smart,” he snarled out, before slipping through the doors and quickly ascending the Abbey basement stairs.

\------

Geoff Curnow needed a drink. Preferably one tall, stiff, and aged in Morley for at _least_ 15 years.

He stood outside the High Overseer office, feeling out of place in his City Watch blue while surrounded by Overseer black and grey. The interior to Holger Square was almost too spacious for his tastes; every step echoed against the old stone and wood, making him think another person was standing nearby. Instead, it was always just the sound his own feet scuffling back to him, and the Overseer guards would always turn to look at him. Geoff could only wonder what expressions their faces held behind those scowling golden masks.

“Sorry,” Geoff apologized after the fourth bout of pacing. It was hard for him to stay still and at this point, he didn't even know what he was sorry _for._ The Overseers flanking the office door just shifted, looking between each other.

“Would you like one of us to get you anything?” the one on the left offered. “Campbell shouldn't be too much longer.”

 _Some Tyvian vodka would be nice,_ his thoughts supplied. _Maybe some of that barreled Morleyan whiskey I've heard so much about. Gristolan gin? Whatever will make this pill easier to swallow._

Geoff offered a pained, nervous smile.

“Nothing, thank you,” he said. “And I'm sure the High Overseer is a busy man. Busy enough to have no choice but to schedule an evening meeting at the end of the Month of Nets.”

“He tends to have quite a few evening meetings,” the second Overseer casually supplied, deep voice muffled by the mask on his face. “It helps us go about our daily rituals with little interference.”

“Of course,” Geoff said, hands clasping behind his back. “The Strictures can be hard to maintain. It's why having people on the force such as yourselves will be... _beneficial_ in the coming months.”

At least, that's what Geoff told himself. In truth, it was more out of desperation that the Overseers were even being _considered_ to help work with the City Watch; the plague was ravaging the Watch’s numbers, and there was next to nothing that Geoff could do to stop the bleeding. When Campbell had offered help, Geoff had had no choice but to take what was given.

He just hoped it wasn't going to end up with his body dumped out for the weepers. _Void._

He paced again and tried not to let the paranoid panic rise in his chest.

From down the hall and near the stairwell, a small commotion caught the attention of the three of them. Geoff looked up, squinting, listening to the amount of shouts and commands coming from the other end of the building. The Overseers exchanged glances; with a nod, one of them ran off to check on the others, sabre clanking softly at his side with each step.

Geoff's eyebrows went up to his hairline. The other Overseer said nothing else.

And when he looked back, the other Overseer was gone.

Geoff blinked and started, looking around. The man had just vanished into thin air, as if he hadn't existed at all. Geoff's hand flew to his belt where his sword rested in its scabbard; he felt his jaw clench as he stepped carefully forward, looking for any sign of the guard who was _just there._ Geoff's hand waved in the space the man had occupied but his fingers hit no invisible barrier. There was no fancy trick of the light happening here.

The man had well and truly _disappeared._

Geoff swallowed, the sweat beading as he whipped around, senses straining. There were still alarms blaring from the other end of the hall; whatever was going on, it was commanding the attention of every Overseer in the area.

Geoff was tempted to go and see for himself what the fuss was all about. He stayed rooted to the spot.

As if on cue, he heard a _click_ from the door behind him.

Geoff turned, throat catching; the previously locked door to the High Overseer office was now cracked open, a tempting invitation. Geoff cursed to himself before lunging for the door knob and slipping inside.

He hardly dared to breathe as he quietly closed the door, letting the lock slide back into place. On the other side of the thick wood, the Overseers continued to run past; they didn't give a single thought about the presumably secure High Overseer Office.

Geoff turned to inspect the room and was surprised to find a hooded figure rifling through Campbell's desk. Geoff gasped and a horrid, twisted mask jerked up to stare him down.

“What in the Void--” Geoff started, halfway to pulling his blade out. But the masked intruder simply put a finger to the mask’s mouth before pointing to the corner.

The guard lay there, groaning, body crumpled in the office’s plush side chair.

Geoff's fingers curled and uncurled around his sword’s hilt. His eyes flicked from the guard -- who had _magically_ vanished moments before -- to the perpetrator and decided that whoever he was, he wasn't someone Geoff wanted to get on the wrong side of.

Besides, Geoff had been standing in this room with him for a good thirty seconds now. No attacks came, no blows were exchanged. The mask had already gone back to looking through the High Overseer's things.

Geoff swallowed. He rocked on his heels. He opened his mouth to speak.

“If you're wondering what I'm doing, I'm looking for a small black book, as well as anything else of importance,” the Mask rasped out. Geoff's mouth snapped shut: the Mask’s words were just a ragged semblance of an actual voice, like the tattered ends of a once-beautiful tapestry. “After that, I've been instructed to... _remove_ you.”

 _That_ pulled Geoff out of his stupor. His hand flew to his sword once again.

“I beg your pardon?” He asked, incredulous. “If you're wishing to threaten, I assure you, this is not the time or place to do so--”

“If you stay here, you will die,” that graveled and broken voice said. The Mask flicked through a few more papers, scanning each one in turn. “And your niece wouldn't be pleased if I let that happen.”

Geoff choked. He took a step forward. The man didn't move.

“Callista?” He said, his voice hushed. “But she's supposed to be-- how have you--”

“She's safe,” the man growled. “If you come with me, you'll see her for yourself.”

“How--” but Geoff shook his head, blinking away his confusion. “No-- _who_ are you?”

But before the man could respond he stiffened, head jerking up. There was a growl, deep, rumbling and _inhuman;_ Geoff felt the hair on his neck stand at the very sound of it. Something in the room crackled around them and in the next moment, the man was by the door, the smoke whispering off of him. The man's hand moved: Geoff looked in time to see an incriminating little black book stored into a side satchel.

It was only then that Geoff was able to catch the shade of blue under the grime of the man's jacket, the dark insignia on the back of his left, _clawed_ hand…

Geoff choked again as recognition hit.

 _“Corvo Attano?”_ Geoff whispered, harsh and low. “What happened to you?”

But Corvo said nothing in response to Geoff calling him by name. Instead, he waved a snarling hand and then closed the gap between him and Geoff in an instant. All too quickly Corvo was flush with Geoff, the heat rolling off of him like the smoke off his body and Geoff felt his face heat at the sheer power of it all. However, there was no time to dwell on it: in the next instant Corvo was throwing Geoff over his shoulder as if he was nothing more than a sack of flour, and then they were skyward, heading for the ceiling rafters in the office.

“What--” but Corvo was quick to shush him again as they looked down from the exhaust pipes. In the next moment, a rush of Overseers filled the room, exclaiming as they spotted their dazed companion in the corner and the High Overseer's desk in disarray.

“Search the room!” The one Overseer yelled. “They couldn't have gotten far! The heretic will pay for their crimes!”

From their high perch, Corvo and Geoff watched them search the entire room but, almost _hilariously_ , none of them thought to look _up._ As they started to leave and raise the alarms, Corvo pulled at Geoff's arm, demanding his attention.

“Curnow,” he rasped out, and it sounded like he was putting his words to a grater. “I need you to trust me in these next moments. If you can do that, I promise we'll get out of here in one piece.”

Geoff closed his eyes, swallowed, and weighed his options. Then, he nodded. Under him, Corvo relaxed.

“Thank you,” he growled out. “Also… I'm sorry, in advance.”

Before Geoff could even ask what Corvo was sorry for, a sharp sting made itself known on the side of his neck. He moved to clamp his hand down on the wound but everything was suddenly too heavy to lift, his mouth filled with a cottoned tongue.

Geoff's eyes blurred, colors swimming together into inky swirls of abstract shapes. There was a shout as his vision clouded over and he remembered nothing more.

\------

“...and you're sure you can make it there? I don't need to worry about you _getting lost_ along the way?”

“Oh no; it may be hard to believe, Royal Protector, but I used to _frequent_ the Hound Pits Pub in my youth, more than I care to admit.”

“And if you speak a word of what you saw tonight…”

“Do you think I don't value my life? I watched your claws pry open my wooden prison like it was an oyster shell. I don't need that happening to my _skull,_ thank you.”

“Alright… We'll see you soon then?”

“Of course, Royal Protector.”

The sound of footsteps and the swaying feeling of vertigo made themselves known to Geoff's muddled senses. He groaned, fighting back nausea, as the feet under him stilled for a moment before patting Geoff on the back.

“Good to see you awake, Curnow.”

That rasping, broken voice. Geoff's head cleared faster, realizing what happened.

“Outsider' balls…” he slurred out. “Y’drugged me.”

Corvo shifted, almost guiltily. Then there was a lurching sensation and a rush of wind and Geoff _heaved,_ gasping for the air that left his lungs.

Gently, Corvo set Geoff down. The City Watch Captain coughed, shaking his head out and trying to focus his eyes onto the face of the Royal Protector. Corvo looked at him through that grotesque mask, but he sighed out, pushing the metal face up and off his own.

Geoff's eyes widened as he looked into the sunken and haunted eyes of Corvo Attano. Or at least, the man formerly known as; whatever had happened to Corvo in the last eight weeks looked as if it nearly _destroyed_ him. His eyes were shadowed and dark, his hair limp and ragged as he pushed his hood back. All the while there was a sharpness there, an edged alertness where it had never been before-- not even at the height of the Lord Protector’s prowess in his position.

No, this was something completely different and entirely alien. It sent a chill down Geoff's back, and not in a good way.

“Corvo,” he breathed out. “What happened to you?”

The smile Corvo offered him was sad and the sigh, pained. He patted Geoff's shoulder roughly.

“It's a long story. One that will have to wait for later, unfortunately. For now, I'm sure you'd like to see your niece again.”

Corvo motioned over to his left; Geoff sat up and looked over, only then realizing they were resting in the shadow of a rooftop. Down below, a small boat sat on the water, waiting, a single lantern light beckoning in the darkness.

“Callista,” he coughed out. “She's okay? She got out?”

Corvo nodded.

“Thank the Void,” he breathed out, falling back again. “Yes, please, take me to her and out of this damned Abbey. And I could use a drink when we get wherever we're going, if you don't mind.”

Corvo laughed. It was a broken thing, shattered like glass.

“Don't worry,” he said, the cracks in his voice somehow managing to hold genuine mirth. “There will plenty of spirits to drown in where we're headed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May shift focus after this chapter over to finishing up my other fic, Steady the Sword -- or at least, focus on starting a new chapter, which I haven't done in MONTHS. But the new Dishonored book came out and it has inspired me and my writing so if I don't update this for a bit, that's why! 
> 
> And if you can, go check my other fic out in the meantime! It's quite different from this one, and has a longer end goal. Still Corvo/Daud though. ;) 
> 
> Thank you for the love!! OVER 200 KUDOS NOW!! You are all the best, thank you~


	8. With Wealth of Knowledge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy full moon, lovelies. Have a late night update to this, I love you all for your patience as I got this written and my life in order. <3

Corvo wanted to say later that the boat ride back to the Hound Pits Pub had been quiet and uneventful. That he was left unbothered; that he, Sam and Geoff had all kept to themselves and that he had gotten plenty of rest along the way.

He _wanted_ to say that, but Geoff Curnow was a Watch Officer to the bone. And that meant Corvo had to endure an _interrogation_ before enjoying any amount of shut-eye.

“So Callista is still at the pub?”

“Yes.”

“And you met her there?”

“Yes.”

“How long ago, exactly?”

“I don't know. A few days now.”

“She was the one who said to come get me?”

“No Geoff, a little sparrow told me.”

Geoff frowned at Corvo's reply; Corvo simply folded his arms in tighter and tilted his head at Geoff. He was so tired. He wanted to ignore the itchy thrum of his limbs and the annoying questions of a Watch Captain and instead go to sleep. But if the look on Geoff’s face was anything to go by, he wasn't ready to let Corvo go just yet.

And so, the Lord Protector sighed.

“Anything else, officer?”

Geoff shifted, self conscious, but kept his frown in place and his eyes on Corvo.

“Just a few questions. Who did you speak to before we left the Abbey?”

“Oh, you were awake for that?” Corvo's eyebrows shot up in light surprise. He cleared his ruined throat before continuing, ”He’s an Overseer named Teague Martin. He'll be joining us later at the pub.”

“Any reason why?”

“I helped him, so hopefully he'll help me. Besides, I have something he wants.”

Corvo fished out a small black book from his belt satchel, holding it up between his fingers.

“Isn't that Campbell's?” Geoff inquired, eyes narrowing on the worn leather and yellowed pages. Corvo nodded before lazily twirling the book and storing it away on his belt again. “And just what has become of its original owner?”

“Campbell’s alive, if that's what you're asking. He probably isn't too happy about the state of his belongings right about now, though.” The ghost of a smile crept over Corvo's face; he may have left Campbell in one piece but he certainly hadn't been _kind_ about it.

And with the evidence Corvo had, the High Overseer’s days in power were numbered.

“So it’s true, then? He planned on being rid of me?”

Corvo nodded, eyes sharp in spite of his weariness.

“I discovered a glass of poisoned wine in your intended meeting room and an audiograph that incriminated his actions. I have it, if you'd like to take a listen later.” Corvo let his lips pull further into a wicked grin. “For a High Overseer, that man certainly has a lot of skeletons.”

“Well, when you're close to someone  like Hiram Burrows…” Geoff muttered, clearly agreeing even without the evidence. His eyes then widened and he jerked back to Corvo.

“Burrows... _Corvo!”_ he gasped, a finger pointed the Royal Protector. Sam looked between them, surprised by the action. “I _know --_ it wasn't your fault the Empress died. I know that it was Hiram, _he_ set up the hit on Jessamine. I overheard his plans while traveling the Isles with him; you were falsely framed. You're as much a victim as Jess was.”

Geoff made the statement like a revelation; as if the puzzle pieces had finally fallen into place, like he finally remembered why Campbell was trying to kill him in the first place.

Corvo, of course, knew he was innocent. Sam and Callista did too, or at least believed it well enough to not inquire. But there was a huge difference in personally knowing his own innocence and hearing it aloud as fact from a third party. Corvo felt himself sag, letting go of the air in his lungs like a deflating balloon. 

“Thank you,” Corvo rasped out softly, his damaged throat catching painfully on the words. He didn't know what he was thanking  Geoff for; Curnow didn't seem to know either,blinking in astonishment at Corvo's response. But Corvo didn't care.

It was nice to simply be _reminded_ he was innocent.

There was a beat between the three of them. Corvo could feel himself drifting from relief, the whisper of the Void already strong in his sleep-deprived ears.

“Ah,” Geoff started, his voice keeping Corvo above the surface. “You're welcome, I think. But I _always_ knew that Hiram was lying about you, because I caught him mentioning the real assassin to the High Overseer months ago.”

_A giant, scarred, shadowed wolf. A pack of smoking dogs that scattered like ghosts. A river of red, running hot down Corvo's arms to pool collectively with the blood of a dying Empress._

Corvo was up so fast Geoff jumped in his seat. His jaw clenched, his whole being tightening like a spring as his body fought for control against the beast under his skin. His expression darkened; Geoff leaned back, worry coloring his features.

“That assassin,” Corvo growled out. “Who is he? Who did Hiram hire?”

“I--” Geoff stuttered and swallowed, eyes glancing to Sam for backup. “You didn't know?”

“A name,” Corvo snarled. “I need a _name.”_

“He's known simply as Daud,” Geoff obliged. “The Knife of Dunwall and head of the Whalers group.”

_Daud._

The name crashed down on Corvo like a wave. He felt his chest heave, felt the wolf lunge and fight for release. He remembered now; Hiram uttered the name just once in Corvo's presence, back when he was fever-wracked and newly turned and his life was a blur of pain. Of course he hadn't realized then the significance of the name, couldn't put two and two together when he could hardly remember who or what he was.

But now…

The assassin's title consumed Corvo’s mind in a way he didn't understand as he committed it to memory, saying the name over and over again like a horrible prayer. As he did something else, _someone_ else answered, reaching out to Corvo's thoughts, coming as if _called_ to him, to his very _mindspace --_

“Lord Corvo.”

Corvo managed to look up at the gentle pull of his name. Sam was there, offering him a hand, blocking Geoff from any possible backlash. Corvo's eyes flicked from Sam to Geoff; the Watch Officer’s face was pale in the moonlight, his hand defensively resting on the hilt of his sword.

“Corvo,” Sam softly repeated.

Corvo breathed. He swallowed and stilled his racing thoughts. He flexed the claws clutching deep at the fabric of his old Protector coat. He didn't recall letting them grow out.

“I'm here, Sam,” he muttered out. “Apologies, Curnow.”

“No need, Lord Corvo,” Geoff replied, but his broken voice betrayed him. Corvo swallowed again, evening out his breath. Claws and fur burned away and disappeared: Geoff eased off his weapon as well.

“Daud,” Corvo parroted out, the only thing still on his racing and confused mind. Again, the whisper of a consciousness brushed against his thoughts at the name, followed by a bone-deep ache that had nothing to do with weariness. Corvo shivered before meeting Geoff's face once again.

“Yes, Daud,” Geoff carefully added. “he's got quite the reputation with the Abbey _and_ the Watch. Some eyewitnesses once reported him as a Wolf of Men. Didn't ever think that description would turn out to be so… _literal.”_

Corvo snorted and shook his head.

“At least I have something to look for,” Corvo said, bemused. “Thank you.”

Geoff nodded, his face still holding a hint of unease as he looked Corvo over. “Of course, Lord Protector.”

“And--” Corvo choked out, finally attending the one question he most feared the answer to. “Do you know -- have you heard -- _anything_ on Emily?”

Geoff’s face fell into a look of near pity, the sadness there cinching tight around Corvo's heart.

“I'm sorry, Corvo,” Geoff said, his sincerity causing Corvo's throat to painfully squeeze shut. “I have no idea what happened to the Empress’s daughter. And whatever Burrows planned for her, I never learned.”

Corvo looked down and away, only managing a nod as he settled back into the boat. He expected that sort of response, but knowing he was still no closer to Emily left him more drained than ever.

They fell into silence. Despite needing to rest, Corvo's body was too wired from the discussion to sleep. His limbs itched to be used and he fidgeted the whole ride back, unable to stay still. Before the boat was even tied down he was leaping free of it, his shaking legs carrying him to the building and up a flight of stairs before their pitying looks could even hope to stop him.

He wasn't present for the Curnow family reunion. He didn't want to be; instead he settled for listening to hear their muffled voices, watching them through the Void from the second story landing. Callista had stayed up late waiting for them to return; she broke into hysterics as she saw her uncle, throwing herself into his arms upon seeing him whole and healthy.

Corvo huffed and looked away, letting the Void leak out of his vision. From down the hall, a door jostled and creaked open.

Corvo froze.

A groggy servant poked their head out from behind the door; Callista's cries must have been loud enough to rouse them, even at this witching hour. Corvo eased; the worker was a young woman with disheveled brown hair and heavy eyes. Her angry grumbles morphed into a nervous squeak she caught sight of Corvo on the landing, leaning against the railing. Immediately she flushed and muttered out an apology, trying to pull herself back into her room as quickly as possible. Corvo blinked, his stomach going cold.

“Wait,” he whispered out. She jerked and didn't meet his eye, but she did as she was told. He licked his lips, choosing his words carefully has he strode over.

“Can I ask what your name is?” He tried to sound as gentle as possible, but his ragged voice made that goal next to impossible. The girl's eyes darted up to him before looking away again.

“Cecelia, sir,” she muttered. “Please, I don't be meaning no trouble--”

Before she could continue, Corvo pulled a heavy purse out of his coat and held it out to her. She looked at it warily and didn't move to take it -- not until he shook the bag slightly, the soft jangle of coin making the contents obvious and unmistakable.

“There will be a few more people staying at the pub soon,” he whispered to her, gently setting the purse in her outstretched palm. “This should be enough to cover any inconveniences or amenities during their stay.”

Cecelia gaped at the weight of the coin suddenly resting her right hand, her left furiously wiping the sleep from her eyes. She tested the weight and checked the money inside, looking back at Corvo in a sort of bewildered awe.

“Sir--” she croaked out. “Sir, I can't accept this--”

“Get it to your boss, then,” Corvo shrugged. “And make sure it's distributed to the other workers. Just consider it compensation for -- for dealing with _me.”_

“Thank you, Lord--” but he was gone before she even finished the sentence.

Stopping time was still a new sensation for him -- incredibly draining and empowering in one fell swoop -- but he used the power to get away regardless. He didn't need to hear her sincerity and frankly he didn't really want it. He just wanted to _sleep._ His brain still spun with what he'd learned on the way back from the Abbey; he needed time to digest, to be alone.

And he needed to get rid of the insistent pressure at the back of his skull that felt entirely foreign and not his own.

He closed the door to the attic and resumed time; color returned to the world and from somewhere a few flights down he heard a surprised gasp, no doubt Cecelia processing the fact that Corvo had -- to her perception -- suddenly disappeared. He huffed out a small laugh and turned to the room proper; as soon as he found the rickety old mattress he fell on it, fast asleep and unaware of the gracious mutters lingering in the hallway just outside.

\------

Karnaca spread out below Corvo, just as he remembered it.

He knew this had to be a dream; he hadn't seen the city in near two decades, even if he knew the feel of it all the same. The sun burning on cobbled stone, the dust billowing on the horizon, the sticky smell of bloodfly amber -- this was the Karnaca he memorized long ago, able to pull it perfectly out of his memories even as the Void curled at the edges of the city and his wolfen body gave him a new perspective.

His memory served him well; all the same paths and winding alleys were exactly as he recalled, all the secrets only he and his sister were ever able to find. He leapt from hard stone to choking vines to winding wood, the trees at Karnca’s edge encroaching like they never had in real life, unruly and wild and overpowering. The warmth of the wood under his claws resonated with him; he was alive as the city slept, the city where he was born and raised and became the man he was today.

Corvo wound through the branches like a furred snake, all confidence and deadly elegance. But he wasn't careful; even his mind had a way of pulling tricks on him. He took a too-sharp corner and stopped dead in his tracks as the air suddenly _shifted._

He was no longer in Karnaca. The scents throttling his nose were nothing like the hot sand he recalled of his youth. _This_ was heavy industry and smoke; sea and salt and the bitter tang of processed whale oil. In the distant sky -- obscured by cloud and high above the city line -- a whale keened, the sound shifting between high and low, between sadness and anger. The song of it made the fur of his neck bristle, his very soul shaking under the weight of it.

He was in Dunwall. But unlike Karnaca it was twisted, warped by the very capriciousness of his dreams.

_Corvo._

His chest lurched as something hooked deep into his very core; pulling and yearning for him, calling him by name. His claws dug painfully into the wood as he tested the air, his mind reeling. His body shuddered and shook  before he was off again, leaping from the rooftops to whatever pulled so powerfully on his soul.

It wasn't long before he found his answer.

A huge, hulking form. Black fur and blazing blue eyes. A long scar marred the right side of his face as he turned to face Corvo.

Their gazes locked. Rage boiled up. Lips curled back and fangs flashed and Corvo _screamed._

The force of his howl shook the very fabric of his dreamscape, rippling through the air like disturbed water. Still, the assassin wolf didn't move, didn't react, just stared Corvo down as he leapt, racing to where that other wolf was, to where he stood and --

The world shifted. Rocks shot up. The path changed.

And the wolf of Daud was gone.

Corvo panicked. The ache of his chest worsened with his rage and he clawed forward, searching for a way past his new blockade. The world tilted dangerously, warping under his very feet and throwing him off-balance. Dunwall was quickly changing into something dark and terrifying, the wind whipping up and chilling him to the bone. Yet the powerful tether maintained it's connection. Daud still called to him, but from where, he couldn't tell.

Corvo clawed his way over stone and concrete, finally reaching the surface only to find the world dark, the songs of the whales morphing into distant rumbles of thunder. The scent of rain on the wind overwhelmed him and he turned, trying to get his bearings.

“Corvo?”

The voice was soft and small, barely audible over the whipping wind. But still Corvo's sensitive ears caught the word, and his throat choked on a stifled reply. It was too good to be true -- and yet, he couldn't mistake that voice, _her_ voice, like the whisper of springtime bells, like innocence lost to a bygone age.

He jerked and turned, ears swiveling, focusing on the sound.

“Corvo!”

And then he saw her; she turned to him and she shone like a star, beckoning him to her.

_Emily._

She beamed, and it felt too perfect to be real -- yet there she was, whole and well and waiting for Corvo with outstretched arms.

A shadow passed between them.

Like a ghost, the wolf smoked back into his vision, eyes burning like whale oil in the night. Corvo stopped, his gut going cold as Emily smiled and reached up to run a hand over the giant hound’s gnarled muzzle.

_Emily! No!_

But she wasn't listening anymore. She wasn't even looking at him, too busy petting the snout of the monster that had killed her mother, fangs so close to snapping her up too --

Corvo lurched forward but stumbled, stuck in place. Vines had crept up around him, long and thick and twisted, their thorns piercing his skin and fur. He yelled and cried; the weeds just wound tighter around his legs and dragged him down, away from the one thing that mattered above everything else.

_No, nonono EMILY!_

His claws left gouges in the wood as he dug at those inky vines trying to wake him. He fought desperately to stay in the dream, as if he could somehow get to Emily, even while asleep. But the vines were insistent, intent on dragging him back to the waking world.

All the while those cold, scarred eyes never left him.

 _I will find you,_ Corvo snarled threateningly back, praying for a reaction and getting none. _I will find you and I will find her, that is a promise!_

 _Good,_ was the single reply, so deep and loud it shook Corvo to the core.

His concentration faltered.

The thunder rumbled.

And the vines dragged him away, and Emily and the Knife of Dunwall were gone.

\------

Corvo shot up in his bed, panting and shaking, his entire body _screeching_ at him. It soon became apparent why; at some point in his sleep he had started _turning,_ his limbs burning and smoking as hot fur covered his arms and shoulders. He breathed in and his ribs painfully cracked as they expanded; his face was stretched and his teeth too large and his fingers too long and it was all too much and _wrong, so wrong._

It _hurt_ like it did back in prison, back when he had no idea what was happening and it took all his energy to not return to that near-panic state. _Not_ _in Coldridge_ he reminded himself over and over -- on the back of his clawed left hand the Outsider's Mark still burned bright, backing up the logic of his thoughts. He took a few breaths, stilling his shaking limbs and willing his body back to _normal._ It took a few tense seconds but finally the fur billowed away, his joints realigned and the magic returned him back to fully human again.

He twitched and shook, more now from residual adrenaline in his veins than from any panicked exertion. Corvo’s jaw clenched; he thought he was past this. Apparently, that was just wishful thinking; this was only his second day with the mark, after all. But that mark was _supposed_ to afford him some control over his mess of a being -- if he couldn't have that, what was the point?

Corvo growled, clenching his fist and calling to the Void. His mark flared, tingling against his skin as his black claws reemerged-- he immediately willed the claws away and his hand obediently returned to human once again.

He flexed his fingers and sighed, repeating the process until he was  satisfied. Whatever had happened in his sleep didn't seem to affect him while awake. As long as he was conscious, Corvo could still pretend to be _normal._

He got up and dressed as silently and as quickly as he could. He had no idea how long he had been asleep or what time it was; nobody had come to collect him this morning, and outside the sky was overcast, threatening an afternoon rain. He opened the window and sniffed; the air certainly was heavy with a humidity just waiting to be broken. Corvo frowned, closed the window until just a crack remained open and then left the stuffy attic to join the rest of the residents downstairs.

As soon as he entered the pub, every face turned to him. Corvo stopped in his tracks, alarm rising in his chest -- but then he caught Callista smiling at him over coffee, Cecelia’s flushed cheeks as she caught sight of him from behind the bar, Geoff's warm and encouraging nod. The atmosphere was anything but threatening; instead it was _welcoming,_ as if requesting Corvo's presence instead of rejecting it. It was different. It was _nice._

It made Corvo want to run away all the same.

He swallowed the urge, entering the pub proper. He caught Sam sitting in a booth reading the Courier; he made for him, hoping to join him for his quiet familiarity -- but the booth across from him was already occupied. Another man took up the seat, a man with dark hair, a sabre at his side, and robed in black and silver.

“Ah, Corvo, good to see you awake.”

Teague Martin leaned back in the pub booth, eyeing Corvo as he neared. Unease crawled up Corvo's spine at seeing Teague in the daylight but he nodded back just the same, sending a brief smile to Sam who beamed goodnaturedly back.

“Glad to see you made it here in one piece, Martin” Corvo offered. “Was it much trouble for you?”

“Hardly,” Martin said with a wave of his hand. “Overseers are allowed into quarantined areas with little question; in these chaotic times we've been offered more power than most.”

“I see,” Corvo said darkly, trying to not think of the implications of Martin's words. “Sam, is it alright if I sit with you?”

Sam smiled gently and folded the newspaper up in his hands. “Take my seat; I'm heading out to visit Piero anyway.”

Corvo shifted, uncomfortable. “Are you sure? I don't want to intrude or--”

Sam stood up and simply patted Corvo's shoulder before moving past him and outside. Corvo watched him go, unsteady from Sam's show of easy solidarity.

“Are you just going to stand there all day or are you going to sit down?”

Corvo jerked back to Martin, who watched him quizzically. Corvo’s frown returned and he sat across from Teague, studying the man carefully. He smelled _clean,_ but in that sort of way that left no discernible scent behind. The back of Corvo's neck itched.

He pulled the small black book out of his jacket regardless, sliding it across the booth to the Overseer. Martin's eyes lit up at the sight of it, the pages intact even after everything Corvo went through to get it. His eyes flicked briefly to Corvo's face before reaching out and taking the journal, gloved hands running across the cover before opening it and idly flicking through the pages.

“Outsider's eyes, you really retrieved it.”

Corvo hadn't shown Martin the book before they parted at the Abbey, opting to make sure the Overseer would actually show at the pub and stay true to his word. Now, Corvo leaned back in the booth, arms crossed as he kept a suspicious eye on the man across from him.

“After everything you witnessed last night, you really doubted my ability?” Corvo asked, incredulous.

“Honest men are hard to come by in this city, Corvo,” Teague replied smoothly, raising an eyebrow while scanning the journal’s pages. “You know this well, seeing how you tested me to see if I was worth the trouble.”

“You came for the book, Teague -- which means you're _predictable,_ not honest.” Corvo growled back. “But you're here now. So now I get to ask; are you willing to help me?”

Teague scoffed and smiled a small smile. “What does a heretic like you expect from a man of the Abbey like me?”

Corvo tilted his head, eyes narrowing as his leg bounced under the table.

“Campbell works very closely with Burrows. He always has; they've been close for years, but since my priority was the Empress and her daughter, I paid no attention to it. Maybe if I _had,_ well...” Corvo trailed off, rolling his tongue over his teeth. Martin’s eyes followed the action, gaze going back to his eyes as Corvo sneered and continued. “Either way, Burrows is the reason Jessamine is dead. He hired the assassin Daud to do the job, a fact he mentioned to Campbell. You have incrimination on Campbell and I'm looking for all the evidence I can get. What can you offer me?”

Martin's grin flashed wide but he said nothing, continuing his casual perusal of the book. Eventually he came across an interesting page; he dog-eared it, bookmarking its placement for later.

“Campbell has many secrets, all of them damning and most of them of little interest to you,” Martin started cooly. “As _shocking_ as it sounds, the religious elite love cavorting with devils.” He laid the book flat, his hands folded neatly over it. “Campbell has been looking into heretical artifacts and individuals for years while systematically killing those who pose no real threat to the population.”

Corvo's jaw worked as he tried not to be surprised by this information.

“So he's been killing people falsely accused of witchcraft to keep heat off of himself?”

“More like keep the heat off his own _pets,_ ” Martin corrected smoothly, “But yes. He's a big fan of the Royal Executioner -- who,  despite being a rumored heretic wolf himself, has never been accosted or arrested. That's just one example of many; he picks and chooses his allies carefully and avoids those who could cause him consternation. Clearly he wasn't careful this time, not if _Daud_ is involved.”

Corvo bristled at the name but did his best to keep his expression neutral.

“Daud; what do you know about him?”

Martin _laughed._

“More like, what _don't_ I know about him? The Overseers have been doing undercover investigation on the man for _years,_ but he's so elusive most consider him a myth. Campbell destroys reports on him like he’s avoiding the plague; whenever he discovers an Overseer has made a personal project of trying to capture Daud, he burns any evidence. There are not many surviving documents in the Abbey on Daud. I've not met the assassin personally but whoever he is, he's not someone Campbell wants to get on the bad side of.”

“Do you think Campbell is working with him -- burning evidence that points to previous business transactions?”

Martin shook his head, flipping through the book again. “No, no, I'm _certain_ Campbell does it out of fear -- or, to protect Burrows. Campbell is interested in the occult so in a twisted way, Daud is a competitor and not to be trusted.”

“A competitor?” Corvo asked, his head tilting curiously. Martin just gestured nonchalantly to Corvo's left hand.

“Yes, for the Outsider's favor,” Martin told him. “Campbell's been obsessed for years. I'm hoping his journal will confirm what I've already suspected; that Campbell met the Outsider once but walked away from the encounter with no favor. Since then, he's collected quite the collection of charms and runes in a bid to understand the god of the Void better.”

“I did find more than one artifact in his chambers while I was gathering information,” Corvo mused, thinking of the locked vault he had snuck into and ransacked for his own devices. “So this does add up. And it's plenty to incriminate Campbell when the time comes.”

“Oh it's only the waterspout of the whale, Corvo,” Martin drawled easily, his grin still eager and triumphant. “Such as how he enjoys slipping away to the Golden Cat every Tuesday to practice his wandering gaze and wanton flesh.” He laughed as Corvo grimaced at the thought.

“How do you know all of this, anyway?” Corvo growled out, apprehensive of the answer. Martin just shrugged and smiled.

“I wasn't always an Overseer, and I didn't join via the conventional means of being hand picked as a good boy candidate.” He flipped to a page, cooly scanning the contents. “I have _so many_ reasons to want to see Campbell kicked off his high horse, most of them my own. Perhaps one day I'll tell you why but for now, just know it gives me great pleasure to be able to bring about the High Overseer’s downfall.”

Corvo went silent, chewing over all that Martin had provided. He didn't know how much of it he could believe, or what was even worth remembering. He didn't care about Campbell, not like Martin did. With or without the knowledge of his occult obsession, Campbell was now a dead man walking. But what Martin had said about Daud, how even Campbell seemed to fear his wrath… those were facts worth remembering.

“Speaking of the Golden Cat…” Martin added, almost as an afterthought. He trailed off, prompting Corvo’s attention again. “They say half the girls who end up there are dropped off by nobles who need to cover up getting a pretty tramp pregnant on Fugue and soiling the family blood with unwanted heirs. Nobody believes a whore when she's forced to work in prostitution.”

Corvo's brow furrowed. “That is a popular rumor, yes, but I'm not sure what it has to do with anythi--”

“There's _also_ a rumor that Burrows has strong connections with the Golden Cat--” Martin said, a little more forcefully. “--and that he's visited the establishment more frequently than usual since the Empress died. Some say it's for stress relief, with the young Emily missing, and all.”

Corvo stared at him, his mouth snapping shut.

“It's just a rumor, of course,” Martin finished, casually shrugging. “Could be nothing.”

Martin raised his eyebrows at Corvo and the gravity of his words finally hit him like a brick.

Luckily, the Lord Protector didn't need explaining to twice. With a heavy swish of his coat Corvo was gone from both the booth and the pub, searching out his loyal boatman even as the distant thunder rolled, the rain threatening them from overhead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man I can't wait to set Corvo up for soul-crushing disappointment. 
> 
> Until next time~. I'm still calculating exactly how many chapters this fic will have, but right now, I'm guessing between 15-19. Which means we're almost halfway through~! Hooray!


	9. With Golden Cats and Fevered Dogs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, we're back!!! It's been a few months but I appreciate everyone's patience. And look! A new chapter, extra long! It really got away from me, and I just sorta... let it go. Anyway. Enjoy. :D

The Golden Cat had the worst kind of smell clinging to it. It looked clean and proper, but the truth of it hung heavy in the day’s humidity like a poisonous cloud waiting to fall. It smelled of sickness and disinfectant, it smelled of the poor and the corrupted rich, of festering wounds and broken minds and heavy hearts. Corvo was glad for the mask he wore as he quickly scaled the outer wall; it kept the overpowering scent of the brothel’s perfumed air out, and kept the curl of his lip hidden in.

Despite the plague, the Golden Cat defied all business logic by staying open. The property remained heavily protected by the dangerous Walls of Light and was filled with guards ready to usher out anyone showing even the faintest sign of a cough. The decadence of the nobles kept numbers in the green, and meant the place was busy enough that no eyes spared a glance for Corvo; he slipped in easily, a whisper on the wind that the courtesans and their clients paid little attention to. Corvo didn't ignore _them,_ however; every conversation was vital information in a place where nobles gathered and gossiped. He hid himself around corners and above doorways, cataloging the stories revealed to him.

“Are you sure you only have Claire available tomorrow? Then I'm not sure if I can. There's been rumor she has a cough and I just can't afford to take that chance…”

“How much longer on this shift do we have? I was hoping to grab some whiskey and cigars before the downpour started, but…”

“Did you hear about what happened last night at Holger Square? If you didn't, the Courier is sure to run a piece on it soon. Either way, I don't think Campbell will be visiting any time this month…”

“Has the Madame given you today's schedule? Can you switch with me? This man, I just- he always hits too hard and I just- I _can't,_ not this time…”

“Don’t lie to _me,_ Officer! My brothers have been missing for over a week! Yet you're telling me you saw them just yesterday? The Pendleton twins are unmistakable, and none of the girls here have seen them recently, so once I find out who paid you to keep quiet, you'll have my lawyer to answer to!”

Corvo shifted in the shadows as the stiff and irritated form of the youngest Pendleton heir interrogated an equally agitated City Guard. He fidgeted, feeling his own annoyances grow. This brothel held many secrets and stories, sure, but did any of them matter to _him?_ The increasing consensus so far was _no,_ and that did nothing but bother him even further. His skin itched and his teeth gnashed and he pulled at the Void just to give his mind something to do.

He moved from room to room, trying to refocus on why he was here in the first place: finding Emily and bringing her back home.

Martin didn't say it so directly, but there was a _chance_ that Emily was here, dropped off by Burrows in a plea to be rid of a loose end. Corvo could see the logic behind such a decision; killing Emily causes more issues than it solves, and conveniently “losing” her means she can be heroically “found" by Burrows later, cementing his spot in power. And if she isn't found, she can be _forgotten,_ another lost daughter amongst all the others.

At least, that was the prevailing theory. It was sound enough that Corvo wasted no time in getting here and commencing his feverish search. But the more he looked, the less he found and the more he feared he was on a wild goose chase.

That fear was slowly morphing into anxiety and anger. He crawled and smoked through the rafters, trying to quiet the growl threatening to bubble up and out of his throat. As much as he ached to change, it would do no good to make a scene in a place like _this._

Though, if Corvo was honest with himself, a man turning into a giant wolf might actually be the kind of distraction a place like this would enjoy and undoubtedly look _forward_ to.

He curled a lip down at the vivacious and inebriated guests and decided it best to simply move on and leave them to their strange sexual fantasies. Instead, he spied a pair of women making their way back to the powder rooms and decided the back rooms would be quieter and less fervent than the main areas. He swept his eyes over the place before smoking in after them, just as the door shut and locked behind him.

“All these folks are comin’ in like the rain: hard, fast, and far too wet,” the one complained to her friend once they were out of earshot of the patrons. Corvo flattened himself into a stall, holding his breath as he listened to the conversation. Through the Void pulled over his eyes he watched as the other scoffed out an agreement, moving to adjust her revealing outfit.

“At least we'll get paid double for our time,” the girl commented, “what with the plague and the weather, we'll all need it.”

“What? Madame Prudence said nothing to me about this!” The first complained, pulling out a bag from a locker down the ways. She brandished it at her co-worker, “She still owes me for having to deal with that noble who thought it right to smack my face. Sure, he was kicked out, but…”

“You should take it up with her then,” the friend huffed out, changing her top. “But she told me _I'd_ get double pay, at least. And she should have the money, most of it comes from those Pendleton's, after all.”

“And did you hear the twins went missin’?”

The other girl paused.

“No? I mean, I coulda sworn I saw them just yesterday, but maybe it was their brother…”

They moved on to a different room and Corvo let them go, brain turning. It was the second time he had heard of the missing Pendletons-- and of the Madame, who seemed to manage the girls. He didn't much care about the twins -- he _’s sure_ he threw one of them out of the Tower once for insulting Jessamine -- but the Madame at least could be of some help. If anyone would know if Emily was here or not, it’d be her.

One stretch of the senses and a stairwell climb later, Corvo found himself hovering outside the office door to the owner of the Golden Cat. His senses told him the Madame was on the other side, deep in a heated intercom conversation.

As he stood and weighed his options in the hallway, a soft, rhythmic thump from his inner coat pocket whispered it's own opinions to him.

 _The Golden Cat was here long before Madame Prudence found it,_ the Heart privately told him, _but the curtains were her idea._

“An eclectic sense of taste,” he murmured back, head tilting as he watched the glowing body of the Madame end the conversation, tutting back to her duties. He waited a beat before smoothly raising a fist and rapping his knuckles against the door.

The Madame was halfway around her desk when she paused. Corvo watched through the Void as she wiped down her coat and vest, straightened her furred shawl, and stalked over. Corvo stepped out of her field of vision as she opened the door, waiting until she cleared the threshold before pulling a clawed hand down, bringing reality to a stop along with it.

The magic smoked from his burning palm as the world greyed around him, leaving all but himself suspended in time. Casually, he pocketed his hands and strode into the room past the annoyed form of Madame Prudence, noting her heavy makeup and beehive hair. His nose curled in anticipation of the heavy perfume her office undoubtedly reeked of.

He leaned against her desk and, with a sigh, let his glowing mark fade to black as time resumed again.

It wasn't but another moment before a mumbling Madame turned back to her room, closed the door, and winced at the sight of Corvo, with his deep hood and gnarly mask. If she was afraid she didn't show it, but she did place a hand to her chest, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

“If you're here for my theatrics play, there are easier ways to get my attention, you know!”

Corvo's head cocked. His nose twitched; the office was not only perfumed but also heavy with drugged hookah smoke. His lip curled in disdain; not even a dunk in the sewers was going to get _this_ stench out of his jacket.

“Apologies for the intrusion, Madame,” he rasped out, throat burning against the laced atmosphere. “But I'm not here to be part of the cabaret.”

He remained casual: she remained irritated.

“Then what _are_ you here for?” She sniffed out, straightening her back. “If you aren't here by appointment, then excuse me, for the safety of my courtesans I must alert the guards to have you escorted-”

She moved to the knob.

Before she could turn the door open he was there, one hand over hers and another gripping her throat to the wood of the door.

And there it was, the faintest sliver of fear. His grin slipped into place. Perhaps _now_ he could finally get her to take him seriously.

“I don't think you want to do that, Madame,” he growled out, low and soft. “We can do this the easy way, but bringing in the guards will make this exponentially harder for both of us. Besides, causing that sort of scene is…” he adjusted his grip and tilted his head. “Bad for business.”

Even so threateningly close, Prudence managed to scowl up at Corvo, sniffing at his mangled metal mask.

“Is the best you can do? You come into my property, sneak past my guards, and can't even threaten me properly?”

Corvo stilled. Prudence scoffed.

“You haven't even told me what you want, boy. And do you have to be so close? You smell like a wet dog.”

Corvo removed the Madame's hand from the handle, putting his body between her and her only method of escape. He watched her carefully, undeterred by this old woman's lack of self-preservation.

“I'm looking for a girl. I was tipped off that she is here, in hiding.”

Prudence fixed her shawl and looked him over.

“There are a _lot_ of girls here, if you hadn't noticed. Be more specific.”

Corvo rumbled out a growl, one clearly inhuman and tired of this business. Prudence stilled, eyeing him critically.

“Don't play dumb. The girl would be young, near ten. Royal blood. Probably asking for her mother… or the _Royal Protector._ I'm sure someone with two coins to rub would gladly pay out the nose to hide her here and keep her quiet.”

The Madame narrowed her eyes.

“You think I'm holding the _late Empress’s daughter_ here? Do you think I have a death wish?” She scoffed out a laugh and paced, casual. “Well, truth be told, I didn't even get the offer. Not with those Pendleton's conveniently going missing.”

Corvo shifted, crossing his arms.

“What do they have to do with anything?”

“Outsider’s ass, you were the Royal Protector, weren't you? You can't hide from me, boy,” she laughed, before adding, “the Pendleton's own silver mines. Their wealth comes from them, they paid half the nobles here in Dunwall and perhaps even Gristol. They were among my _best_ customers, even if they are rough with some of the girls…”

“Whom you should treat better,” Corvo muttered out. Prudence's eyes flashed dangerously.

“Those girls are _mine,_ and I will handle them as I please!” She snarled back, but Corvo just rumbled out another warning himself, and they went back to their standoff. “I won't have some _dog_ telling me how to care for my own property…”

“Get to the point,” Corvo stated threateningly, “so that I can leave you to find the Empress's daughter.”

“The _point_ is that the rumor from the girls is that the Pendleton's were _supposed_ to have her, but they never got their hands on her.”

“What?”

“It was quite the point of contention, one they complained about _constantly._ And then, they up and vanished.” Madame shrugged. “Must've been too loud, those idiots. And now I'm out my wealthiest customers and instead have to deal with their nagging brother.”

“Where were they last seen?”

“Outside the Distillery District,” the Madame said. She went over to her desk, pulled out a long cigarette and readied to light it. “But the Bottle Street Gang rules those alleyways. My girls aren't allowed there, so you'll have to go there yourself to look for any more clues.”

Corvo straightened up off the door.

“Thank you for the information. However, I need assurance you won't speak of this.”

Prudence lifted a drawn-on eyebrow, pulling a drag from the cigarette.

“Didn't we already discuss the fact that you being here and making a scene is bad for my business? The back door is to the right and down the stairs. Now get out of here before I change my-”

Prudence blinked, and looked around. The masked man was gone, and she was standing alone in her office. Huffing out a ring of smoke, she carefully checked under the desk, in the closet, around the hookah. All the most likely (and unlikely) places for a killer to hide. Nothing.

Five minutes passed. She sat down, contemplating as she smoked her cigarette. Finally, assured privacy, she reached out once again for the intercom switch.

A black, clawed, hand grabbed her wrist, holding it tight. She gasped, throat catching as the hand smoked and burned, and a low rumble emanated out from the mask glowering down at her.

“I mean it, Madame,” the destroyed voice told her, as the light caught on the glass lenses of the mask’s eyes. “Not a word.”

Her blood ran cold as she nodded. He nodded back and as fast as he had reappeared the figure fled again, leaving no trace behind.

For once, Madame Prudence decided to live up to her own name and chose to not speak of her meeting with Corvo Attano to anyone, ever.

 

\------

 

There were worse jobs to be assigned to than scouting. There were more _boring_ jobs to be assigned to than scouting. Like laundry. Or _patrolling._ Patrol duty was always assured to be a long shift filled with nothing but the smells of rats and whale oil and not much else to look forward to.

But if Connor was being honest with himself as he flitted from rooftop to rooftop over the Distillery District, scouting was still at the bottom of the 'exciting jobs’ list. Common folk probably saw assassin work as mysterious and interesting when in truth it was a lot of waiting and watching and doing next to bloody _nothing_ in-between.

Connor also knows, in the back of his mind, that Daud only sent him out to give him something to do. Not that much needed to be done; the area simply had to be routinely _watched._ Devon and Kieron already dealt with Slackjaw and the Pendleton twins a while back, so his presence was more for quality assurance. His job was to listen and make sure nobody was asking the wrong questions or following up investigative leads.

And of course, Connor just needed to get out of the base one more time before the rain hit. After the seasonal deluge started, nobody would want to go out or do _anything,_ himself included. Best to get the stir-crazy out of his bones now-- but with the rain threatening already, not even being dry was a guarantee on this particular mission.

 _“It's not that bad,”_ a soft voice offered in his ear, but he shrugged the contact away. As much as Connor enjoyed having the mental connection to his brother, he also didn't need to hear his twins’ soft admonishments from where Thomas waited back at base. Why Daud hadn't sent them both out was _beyond_ him, but Connor supposed this was an easy enough job for one. It didn't require _both_ of them just to make sure there weren't any more leads looking into the Pendleton's disappearance.

With a flurry of ash, Connor landed and hunkered down on a low rooftop across from the Distillery where Slackjaw kept his offices. He rested his head back against the nearest chimney and let his senses extend. Even through the muffled sound and reduced visibility of his heavy whaler mask, he could hear and see every passerby with the help of the Void. Daud had gifted him and his brother with plenty of abilities, including ones that made an endlessly boring job slightly more bearable. Connor turned his head, his eyes silently following the route of a guard, the sad lurching of a plague victim, the gamblings of the Bottle Street Gang.

It was shaping up to be a quiet shift.

All the better to eavesdrop with.

A flash from the sky caught in his peripheral for just an instant. Connor instinctively inhaled, tilted his head and counted the seconds.

Three beats later, the rumble came. Connor shifted and cursed to himself; the rain closer than calculated. The clouds didn't look any friendlier, either. Perhaps he'd be getting water-logged after all.

 _“As if we need another wet dog here,”_ Thomas mused, his presence brushing against Connor's mind once again. Connor frowned; as much as the Bond kept them connected no matter how theoretically far apart they were, sometimes he could do _without_ his brother’s casual observations of his missions. Sure, their stronger mental link meant better recon back to Daud but still, privacy and silence would be nice sometimes.

 _“This is just payback for when you wouldn't leave me alone when I was stationed at the Boyles Estate,”_ his brother told him, the smirk coloring every thought that washed softly over Connor's mind. _“You wouldn't stop asking me for better angles on Lady Boyle, if I remember correctly. I swear your voyeurism knows no bounds.”_

 _“Alright, alright fair,”_ Connor eventually relented, and Thomas's smug triumph filled his mind, mixing with Connor's own irritations. _“Just let me do this in peace, I'd like to try and make it back before nightfall.”_

_“Well before I go; Emily sends her regards.”_

Connor swallowed. Thomas withdrew from his mind, the silence left behind a tangible thing. He clenched his fist, doubling his interest in the Dunwall citizens below to occupy the space left behind. He tried but failed to stop the mental image of Emily Kaldwin, back at the base and sending her love, probably hopping around Thomas as he relayed what Connor was doing and-

He ground his teeth down, biting at his tongue. They really shouldn't be so attached. It was all too dangerous. She was the Empress’s _daughter._ She was slated to rule one day. They didn't need to sleep cuddled up with her, or let her borrow their masks, or let her pet them or-

He took a deep breath. It was dangerous. He knew it; The Whalers all knew it. Daud probably knew it too, with how fidgety he’d become as of late. And yet, there was something about her, something that drew the wolves to her like flies to --

“Did you see that? Up there.”

Connor stiffened, the confused growl rumbling out of him unbidden. Instinctively, he clenched his fist; in a rush of ash he leapt 20 meters away, safely out of the sightlines below. He took a steadying breath; no way they had seen him, but something had made his hackles rise, had made him second guess himself.

And then it hit him.

The wind shifted and the scent of _another_ filled his nostrils. Connor stilled and forced his body low. There was another wolf here, and it wasn't Daud, or another Whaler. He knew all of their scents by heart, like knowing a relative's face.

So who…

Movement by the distillery had Connor freezing in place, his limbs rooting him to the spot. By the door he witnessed the flash of light and smoke before a tall hooded figure appeared out of nowhere, spooking the nearby guard.

The figure looked around. A metal mask glinted in the remaining light.

Before their gazes could meet Connor was moving, already transversing to a new rooftop, one closer to the old brewery. His heart hammered in his chest as he crouched low, doing his best to hug the wall.

His distress didn't go unnoticed.

 _“Connor?”_ Thomas tentatively offered, mind brushing against his. He took a shaky breath but didn't respond. First, he needed to see what in the Void was going on. Conversation floated up to his position and he strained his ears, listening.

“Hmph. One of you dogs, again, huh? What you want?”

“I'm not one of those…” there was a pause, like the broken voice behind that mask had to take time to collect itself. “You were expecting me?”

“Slackjaw ain’t dumb. He always knows you lot come back for check-ups. Come on.”

A door unlocked, opened, then closed. Connor peeked over his hiding spot, breath heavy on the exhale. He looked down: the party had moved indoors. His attentions immediately turned the roof of the distillery, looking for cracked windows, bad ventilation shafts, or shoddy roof tiles.

 _“Connor , ”_ Thomas tried again, as Connor clenched a fist and let his body slip inside through a loose window. _“Connor, who was that? What's going on?”_

 _“I may have stumbled on someone, or someone stumbled on me,”_ he fed back to Thomas as quickly as possible. _“Don't tell Daud, not yet.”_

 _“Don't tell-- Connor are you_ insane?!”

But Connor didn't give his twin the benefit of a response. He ignored the surge of phantom anger and annoyance and instead hugged the rafters, squeezing through pipes and over wood to follow that hooded figure inside.

The interior of the distillery was hot, even in the large, open air space housing the huge fermentation vats. He transversed from shadow to shadow, keeping his body as high up as possible, doing his best to follow the voices leading him further into the brewery building.

“You look a little lost. Surprised that ol’ Slackjaw knew you were coming?”

Connor slipped around, claws growing from smoking gloves to grip at wood barrels. He caught the scent of the _other_ \-- the Turned wolf he was sure was Corvo Attano -- and he stilled in instinctive apprehension. With a tilt of his head and a wave of his hand, Connor watched their conversation through the Void.

“I don't care about that,” that raspy, broken voice said. “I just want to find Emily. To that end, I was pointed in your direction.”

Connor swallowed; there was a snap of teeth on the edge of those words that not even the Royal Protector’s mask could hide. How much control did he even have? Connor shifted uneasily at the possibility that it was less than expected. Fighting a feral, newly turned whale-wolf wasn't his idea of a _good time._

But at least it wasn't _boring._

“You were sent to _me?_ ” Slackjaw asked, feigning surprise. “Why? I don't have the girl, and if I did I probably would have sold her for a pretty penny.”

The hooded silhouette of Corvo Attano shifted, fist clenching. The growl rolling off him was _palpable_.

“I went to the Golden Cat looking for Jessamine's daughter-”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And heard the Pendleton's had mentioned her-”

“Oh?”

“And now they are _missing,_ and they were last seen in the Distillery District.”

“That so.”

Slackjaw didn't seem perturbed by Corvo in the slightest, but that didn't surprise Connor. Slackjaw dealt with worse than an agitated Royal Protector on a daily basis. Connor had seen his previous business negotiations with Daud -- _that_ was truly terrifying.

Slackjaw coolly paced the office, picking a knife up and spinning it on the tip of a finger before sheathing it at his side.

“You best be careful where you're sticking your nose, Lord Protector, or you're gonna get yourself burned.”

“I'm not a Protector without someone to _protect,”_ he snarled, hands flexing. “And I need to find her first. Either you help me, or you get out of my way.”

“That what you told the High Overseer, before he shat himself?”

Corvo shifted. Slackjaw laughed.

“Listen here, Corvo, this area is _my business._ And I have good friends in this business _._ You can be one of my good friends! I just need something in return.”

Not a beat passed before a heavy purse hit the wood table between them. Even Slackjaw appeared surprised; he looked from the purse to Corvo before slowly reaching down and grabbing the coin.

“Courtesy of the Golden Cat.”

“My my, I didn't know our fancy _Royal Protector_ was a thief at heart.” Slackjaw rubbed a hand over his moustache before reaching in the purse and checking the coin. “So. _My Lord._ What would you like to know?”

“Where is Emily?”

Connor shifted as the cold dread of guilt flooded his system. Slackjaw, however, held no such feelings as he openly shrugged in front of Corvo.

“No idea, and that's the damned truth.  But I do know the Pendleton's were talking about the Empress's daughter, and I know what happened to 'em as a result.”

“And?”

“Had a guy come through a few weeks back,” Slackjaw concluded, counting a few of the coins in the purse. “Was paying to have anyone talking about the Empress taken care of, and I knew some powerful people who were flapping their jaws.” He grinned, pocketing the money. “It benefited us both to have those mouthy twins removed from the picture.”

“Do you know who he was? The man who paid you?”

“Oh that assassin, who has all his little masked followers.” Slackjaw eyed Corvo carefully. ”You're not with him? That Daud fella?”

“He is _not_ working with me,” Corvo snarled out, and the rage was so intense, Connor felt himself slink back. Even Slackjaw brought his palms up, looking for peace.

“Don't shoot the messenger, friend. I just know what you are, and what _he_ is. I've seen his rooftop dogs, he can't fool ol’ Slackjaw.”

Heart thudding in his ears, Connor worked out of his hiding spot as discreetly as possible. He'd overstayed his welcome already, but if he didn't get back to Daud with this soon...

Connor's foot kicked. The pressure valve burst. Slackjaw yelled. Corvo's head jerked.

Connor clenched his fist, using the cover of the steam to transverse up and away through the rafters. He prayed that Corvo didn't notice him, hoped he could use this as a clean get-away.

The window he crawled in through was still open. He scrabbled through it, claws scratching on the glass, feeling the wind catch angrily against his mask and jacket as soon as he was free of the building. Connor looked skyward; the clouds were dark and angry and ready to drop.

“Thomas,” Connor sputtered out loud. Instantly his brother brushed against his consciousness, questioning. “Thomas, there's been a complication.”

_“What's going on?”_

“It's Corvo,” he told his twin. His gloved hand closed, the Void propelling him to a different rooftop. “He knows Slackjaw was paid off, he knows _Daud_ paid him off-”

A crack of lightning. Connor turned his head from the too-bright flash. When he looked back, a figure stood in front of him, blocking his path.

Connor froze.

 _“Don't tell Daud yet,”_ Connor frantically relayed as the thunder crashed and reverberated in his chest. _“I'm going to handle this.”_

 _“Damnit, Connor!”_ Thomas shot back, worry lacing his anger, but Connor didn't respond, _couldn't_ respond, not with that mask keyed on him, watching his every move.

Connor tensed. Neither of them moved. He knew he'd been spotted, but now it was a battle to see who would break first, who would give chase. They were both predators, in their own ways. They didn't flee or fear easily.

But this… this was different.

Connor knew he would have to run. He shared Daud's powers, yes -- he could transform, manipulate space, see through walls. But he was still _just_ a bonded wolf, using borrowed magic. Corvo was… he was something much greater and far more dangerous than that.

Another flash. Corvo vanished.

Connor jumped through the Void as fast as the magic in his veins allowed. He felt more than heard the arcane power crackle in the air behind him, hanging amongst the ozone and electricity of the coming storm. His hair raised; his head ducked.

Those long black claws sliced right where his scalp had been.

Connor spun, twisting around to bring his blade up to parry the next swipe. Corvo's claws clashed loudly against the steel and Connor caught the glint of the mask, that laughing metal face, and felt the _anger_ hiding just behind it.

 _Spirits,_ Corvo was going to kill him.

He pushed the blade up and side-stepped the next attack, but Corvo was faster than anticipated. He clipped Connor-- just for Connor to dissolve into ash. The Royal Protector's claws slashed through air and he snarled, taking no time to temper the growing ferocity of his voice and body.

“Coward,” he rasped out, looking for Connor even as the assassin reappeared silently behind Corvo. He bent low and kicked out his legs and then immediately blinked away again before Corvo fell on him. He then leapt off, trying to gain distance before Corvo gathered himself up and gave chase.

 _“I don't know how much control he has,”_ Connor shot across to Thomas, reigniting their connection. _“I don't know-”_

 _“How bad is it?”_ Thomas asked, sharp and clinical. _“Can you transform and get away?”_

Connor heard an angry roar from somewhere on the other side of the rooftop and cursed. Against his better judgement, he looked back; Corvo was blinking in and out, a blur of smoke and fur, that was quickly gaining on him.

_“I can't. If I lead him back to the Flooded District-”_

_“Isn't that what Daud wants?”_

_“He'll kill everyone, Thomas! Not an option!”_

_“Okay, if he's that much of a danger then I'll tell Daud and-”_

_“No! No, I’ll deal with this. I'll send him on a wild goose chase then report back when the coast is clear.”_

_“Connor…”_

It was stupid. Well, not stupid, but it _was_ reckless. And it definitely wasn't boring. Might even be _fun._

A terrifying, semi-feral bit of fun.

 _Outsider's ass,_ he needed to get out more often.

Connor breathed, then blinked right into Corvo's line of sight. The man -- if he could even be called that -- turned, zeroing in on his movement. Corvo's body was wavering at the edges; limbs too long, back too hunched, focus too tight.

Connor readied himself. He'd have to move faster than he ever had before. Under his own mask, he felt himself smirk.

 _“Please, don't get yourself killed,”_ Thomas pleaded.

_“No promises.”_

Connor's fist clenched and he was off, speeding over the rooftops. Corvo fell for it; like a carrot on a stick he leapt after Connor, chasing him across the skyline as another flash of lightning lanced by. Corvo was fast, but Connor knew the area better. He jumped diagonally, making his movements erratic. And while it worked for a time, it wasn't enough. Like a spear Corvo’s aim was straight and true. He crashed into a rooftop next to Connor, launching himself straight at him, claws raised, snarling-

Leaving Connor to blink away just in time.

The howl Corvo let out was _screeching,_ like a dying whale. Connor's body stumbled against the power of it, instinct overruling his self-preservation. His knee hit the rooftop, hard: less than a beat later he's thrown, the wind knocked out of him, his mask smashing the tiles with a painful _crack._ He can smell Corvo, can hear the deep rumbles, can feel his claws sink into the lapels of Connor's coat jacket as he’s dragged up just to be smashed down again.

“Where is he?”

Connor didn't need to ask who Corvo meant, not when those angry daggers were digging into his coat, threatening permanent damage. Despite imminent death, Connor didn't respond, keeping his mouth closed, thanking the Void that his mask hid any and all emotion. Corvo waited, but as no answer came his patience waned. He threw Connor into the roofside again, snarling, the heat of his power coming off in waves.

Then a mind slammed into Connor's, angry and vicious and _wild._

_“WHERE IS HE?”_

Connor _gasped,_ his breath catching and his body shrinking away. Corvo threatened to mentally suffocate him, throwing all of the  weight of his turmoil straight at Connor. Instinctively Connor’s mind retaliated, shoving against the pain and the emotion, frantically doing whatever he could to get Corvo out, _out!_

Corvo stilled and his mind retreated so fast it left Connor light-headed. The grip on his jacket lessened, the magic smoking off of Corvo's arms. Connor eyed him carefully; the hooded, masked man before him shuddered, his body cracking.

“What was that?” Corvo gasped out, as if his teeth were remembering how to talk. Connor said nothing, too stunned to move.

 _Oh Void,_ Connor realized, _he's never-_

Corvo himself was no longer paying Connor any attention. The man himself was falling apart; every now and then Connor would feel the distress of his mind brush against his, but even the softest push against Corvo's thoughts sent him wincing back, the foreign sensation too much for his mind.

And yet, Corvo couldn't control it. The contact felt terrified, angry, _tentative_ , as if Corvo was realizing he yearned for the mental contact but didn't know what it was, or how it was happening. Which was possible, right? Connor didn't really know, his mind had been linked to Thomas -- to _Daud_ \-- for so long that-

Corvo vanished.

Connor gaped.

His head was clear; the distress of the Royal Protector completely gone. He sat up, looking around furiously. A quick inhale told him Corvo really was _gone,_ as if he teleported -- or, more likely, _stopped time--_

 _“Connor.”_ The new voice boomed across the Bond, it's clarity and familiarity overwhelming. _“Get back here. Now.”_

_“But sir, Corvo-”_

_“Left,”_ Daud told him, the irritation and acidity of his thoughts laced with relief. _“And you're relieved of duty for tonight.”_

 _“Yes, sir.”_ Connor replied, head bowing even without Daud there to see it. He stood up and called to the Void; fur flowed out, bones popped and senses sharpened as he leapt from the rooftop, four legs propelling him faster than two. His wolf body moved on residual adrenaline, beelining for the Flooded District.

 _“I told you not to tell Daud,”_ he shot angrily to Thomas, though he added the cool tones of reassurance as their thoughts touched.

 _“And I told you not to get yourself killed,”_ Thomas retorted back.

 _"And I didn't,”_ he stated, matter-of-factly. Around his paws, fat drops of water began to appear, signalling the coming rain. They were both quiet; Connor was tired, Thomas was upset. It wasn't until he had made it halfway back to the Flooded District that he finally asked what neither of them wanted to bring up.

_“Perhaps we don't tell Emily?”_

_“Yes,”_ Thomas resigned, sounding defeated. _“I agree. Let's not tell Emily.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Until next time!! I have so many followers and viewers, that it's really keeping me going. I'm so glad for those who read this and love it; you are why there is a new chapter. ;w; Will try and post again soon.


	10. With Flooded Thoughts

Once the deluge started, it didn't stop.

Whispers followed Corvo back to the boat, his head throbbing -- pelted with rain and filled with unwanted thoughts from the city below. It was a constant barrage, one that threatened to drown his own thoughts, pulling him under, carrying him downstream. It made his legs shake and his stomach turn. He couldn't even face Samuel for the whole ride, preferring to keep his fractured emotions hidden, preferring to let the laughing mask do the talking from under their shared umbrella instead.

Sam didn't ask. He didn't need to. Corvo knew, with every ragged breath and jerked motion, that no words were needed to convey that the mission had been an absolute failure.

_Failure._

_Failure failurefailurefailureluredthelure was cast and I wonder if I should check it once we get back. The anchor needs pulled in too before it floods at the Pub and -_

Corvo shuddered and reeled his mind in _again,_ his vision blurring from nausea and the realization that those soft thoughts were _Sam's._ Corvo swallowed hard and eyed Samuel carefully, but the boatman didn't seem to even realize the intrusion had occurred, wasn't even aware of the turbulent mind somehow brushing across his.

Others floated in and out as they passed houses and boats -- flashes of annoyance at the weather, fear for family or children, the smug passing of coin, the hot anger of a man towards his dog--

Corvo turtled his mind as best he could. He didn't know how to stop the torrential downpour. He wasn’t even sure that he _could._

And the rain splattered and fell, again and again and again.

\------

“Has he come down yet?”

_Apprehension. Solidarity. Bergamot. Geoff._

“Not yet, but then again, he had a rough night. Has he even said anything since you got back?”

_Passionate. Intuitive. Grease and lye. Callista._

“Give him time. He clearly hit a dead end, and not finding Emily can't have been easy on him.”

_Gentle. Understanding. Seawater and wood polish. Samuel._

“Oh, he'll get over it. Or at least, he needs to, if he's ever going to get the Empress back.”

_Smoke and mirrors. Too clean and proper. Oiled. Martin._

“Perhaps if you didn't give him terrible leads, he wouldn't be so defeated in the first place!”

“I merely nudged him in a direction and he did what he wanted to with that information. But if he wants to become an unpredictable wild cur I won't stop him, since he is certainly living up to the-”

The words downstairs were cut off by the clear sound of palm hitting cheek. Corvo flinched, the phantom pain of the blow blossoming on his face in the exact spot where Martin was just struck. The simultaneous surprise of the group mixed with his own, making his emotions muddied and his senses overloaded momentarily. He sat up from his prone position on the floor and shook his head, massaging his face as the pain died away.

A sharp sense of self consciousness was the last emotion he caught before pulling away from the collective minds he was eavesdropping on. From below him he heard a door open and close; light feet quickly rushed up the stairs, accompanied by fast breathing and soft mutterings. Corvo turned his head from where he sat on the landing, eyeing Cecelia as she appeared from the stairwell. Her flushed face, already colored with anger, went a deeper shade of red as her gaze found Corvo on the floor. Her dusty scent bloomed with fear, but it subsided into a different emotion as she caught Corvo's eye, one hand massaging his jaw. She inhaled and looked away before mustering the courage to look back and nodding out a greeting. He nodded back, catching her before she disappeared completely into her room.

Downstairs, the talk erupted once again.

“What, none of you were going to stop her?”

“And why would I, Martin, when that was one of the most entertaining things I'll see all day?”

“You're all as bad as a pack of river krusts. As if I needed a reason for this persistent headache to worsen.”

“Oh? You have one too? Must be the weather. I always get heavy-headed when the pressure drops this time of year…”

Corvo gritted his teeth, a hand running over his mouth and scratching his stubble. His fingers tightened and he fought the urge to reach out with his mind again, to brush his emotions against theirs, to feel that sense of a connection--

He got up off the floor. He silently went upstairs. And he didn't dare tempt himself to try and go downstairs again.

\------

Instinct.

The word was like a curse, something powerful that looked good on paper but never lived up to its intended promises. Corvo tried it on his tongue and it tasted nothing like a blessing.

Raindrops pounded out a rhythm against the window as his heart pounded its own song against his ears, the pressure only a mild irritation against the buzzing of his thoughts. He glared out at the rain, hands in pockets, searching the pub’s grounds for something invisible that his mind and body ached for.

If he was being honest, he should have seen something like this coming. Ever since escaping Coldridge -- and maybe even earlier still, back when he had first _changed_ \-- he’d experienced moments where he felt as if his thoughts and emotions weren't his own. He had merely waved it off as paranoia, not as another mind connecting with his own. But ever since his encounter with that masked assassin, Corvo decided he preferred paranoia over… whatever _this_ was.

There was no denying it: he had lunged his _mind_ at the assassin -- _Whaler,_ he recalls Geoff calling them, those followers of Daud. It had been an instinctive assault, one fueled by rage and anger, not direction. So when his emotions were thrown forward like a weapon, he was stunned to silence when the mind behind that wall was just as surprised as he was.

And the worst part was, once Corvo hit that confused wall, he had wanted nothing more than to find a way _around_ it. He had been infuriated, confused, and lost, but most of all…

He _wanted_ that connection. He needed it, he craved it. It was instinct, to seek out the song of someone else, to have it resonate with his own.

And Corvo Attano _hated_ it.

For one, he was tired. He didn't sleep well. On top of being drenched and having few dry articles upon arriving at the Hound Pits, his mind was like a broken dam; the thoughts flowed out and poured in, mixing together in an all-too-loud cacophony. He's sure he caused at least one or two late night disturbances amongst the pub residents, all of whom shrugged if off as a bad dream before going back to sleep. As he gained finesse he learned he could quietly brush against a single mind or multiple, keeping his own thoughts blocked off. Unfortunately, he couldn't sustain the connection; like using his powers, forcing a mental bond drained him, especially if it was only one way.

But Corvo _was_ learning. Slowly, he discovered that everyone had their own distinct mental colors and emotional flavors. From the cool lavenders of Sam to the mustard yellow of Martin and the greens and reds of Cecelia and Callista, he could simply pass by and know who's mind he was reaching out to. He tried not to intrude _too_ much -- he didn't want to invade their privacy like that, not when they all gave him the space he requested -- but it was enough.

At least, that's what he told himself. As soon as he brushed by he pulled away, sequestered his thoughts, and tried to ignore the anxiety that fought to drown him when he wasn't actively reaching out for, for...

_Something._

He sighed and paced the room. Evening was falling, and still he holed himself in the attic with no interest in interacting with the others. A few times Callista or Geoff had come up to knock; he hadn't answered, but the plates of cleared meals and dirty utensils meant their visits weren't entirely ignored. He just couldn't face them or their good intentions when he still felt all _wrong_ \-- now mentally, in addition to emotionally and physically.

He busied himself by checking his heavy, waterlogged coat. It had been hung up to dry as soon as he returned but after almost a day, the sleeves still felt damp at the edges. He shook it experimentally: droplets rained down, freed from the fabric. He sighed, wringing out a sleeve. At this rate, it was a matter of waiting for the weather to clear or for his jacket to dry. Corvo didn't _want_ to wait, not when his senses pulled and his skin itched, but what other options did he have? His leads were all dead ends, he had no idea where Emily was, and-

 _“She hears the call, but does not know how to respond._ ”

Corvo paused, mind grinding to a halt at the sound of those phantom words. As if in response, the heavy _thump_ of the bloodless Heart pounded out, still housed deep in the coat’s chest pocket. He dropped the sleeve he had been working on and instead dove his hand into the coat, pulling out the surprisingly dry and eerily warm device. He sneered at it, the mere sight of it sparking annoyance.

“What do you want?”

The Heart was silent in his hand, just the phantom beat reverberating in his ears and off the walls. He sniffed loudly, grip tightening. As if on cue, the Heart spoke again.

_“You are so confused and angry, not seeing the answers even when they are right in front of you.”_

Corvo breathed, unsure of the solution to the puzzle the Heart was presenting him. He stared at the mechanical monstrosity; it gently -- _playfully --_ beat back in his hand.

_“What use is a mind if it cannot be harnessed?”_

Corvo clenched his jaw as hopeful trepidation filled him.

“What if I don't like what I find?” he asked it, voice breaking.

 _“She hears you call, but cannot respond.”_ the heart repeated, it's voice filled with a soft sadness. Corvo stared at it silently, weighing his options. Then he ground his teeth down, closed his eyes, and let his mind reach out.

The glow of the sun breaking over a bitter winter day. The gentle breeze of spring. A relieved smile after a long day. The sigh in his ears spoke volumes more than any lengthy reply.

 _“My dearest Corvo,”_ the Heart breathed to him, tugging at painful memories. _“Your hands are still as warm as the Serkonan summer.”_

His stomach turned in revulsion even as he drew the Heart closer, bringing it up to his face and pressing it close.

“Jessamine,” he cried, hating how his voice collapsed into a drawn, painful whine. “Empress, what have they done to you?”

“That isn't Jessamine,” a cold, clear voice told him. “At least, not as you knew her.”

Corvo snarled, tears blurring his vision as he threw a clawed hand out, but the Outsider was already gone, appearing to his left, a scowl on his face.

“Really, Corvo, when will you learn that _doesn't work?”_

“You,” Corvo growled out. Around him, his room warped into abyssal stone; the Outsider paced as the Void stretched out behind his inhuman form. Corvo's body burned in response to entering the Void, the magic of it all around him -- but he refused his desire to transform, keeping the Heart of Jessamine firmly in his grasp. The familiarity resting in his palm caused his stomach to sink as much as it made his chest feel light. His lip curled as he held the device out for the whale god see. “What kind of witchery trick is _this?”_

The Outsider blinked, looking owlishly between the Heart and Corvo’s feral face.

“You mean to tell me you don't appreciate your gift?”

 _“Gift?_ Who gifts a man with the heart of their dead lover? Do you find this funny? A joke?” The words tumbled furiously from his mouth as he fought to maintain control of his head, his emotions, his body -- _everything._

“Yes, a gift.” The Outsider repeated, frowning. “It was your birthday, after all. A new year, a new body, a new start: a new you.” He motioned to the heart. “But I see you haven't even been using that device properly because you've yet to find your new _home_ with it's help.”

“Screw that new home, screw your gifts, damn them to the Void and back,” Corvo snapped out, his anger getting the better of him. “And screw your fucking instincts, I'm tired of knowing--” he huffed, limbs shaking. “Knowing _nothing._ I'm no closer to finding Emily, and every day I think I have a grasp on something, it's twisted on its head!”

Corvo clenched and unclenched his fist, staring at it unhelpfully as magic smoked off, leaving smoldering black claws in its place. The Outsider watched him silently, head tilted.

“Why are you even here?” Corvo asked, defeated. “It's not like you will help.”

“No,” the Outsider said plainly, “but that device _is_ trying to help _you._ Since you're so thick, I have to intervene on its behalf.”

The Outsider held out a hand, beckoning for the Heart in Corvo's palm. Corvo eyed him carefully, unwilling to part with it now that he was fully aware of what the thing actually _was._ A gentle waft of reassurance crossed the connection between himself and the Heart; at the mental go-ahead he proffered the Heart of Jessamine Kaldwin for the whale god to take.

Cold hands curled easily around leather; the Outsider squeezed the Heart lightly and after moment of stillness a small ghostly caricature of the late Empress wafted up from the device.

Empty eyes stared blankly. A pale face smiled.

And Corvo's sharp inhale sank deep into his chest like a dagger.

“No.”

 _No,_ this wasn't happening. _No,_ this couldn't be what was actually going on. _No,_ he did _not_ want to relive _this, not again…_

 _“No,_ it's not the Empress,” the Outsider calmly explained. “Just a fragment of her soul, held within a cage. She is not alive, and not really dead. But she remembers you, and she knows Emily.”

The Leviathan's long, thin fingers let go of the Heart. It hung in the air, in limbo between Corvo's warmth and cold Eternity.

“Why don't you ask _her_ where to go?”

_“No.”_

Corvo wanted to cry. He stared at the Heart -- at the _ghost_ of the Heart, trapped in a shell and smiling at _him_ \-- and wanted to collapse. He wanted to run, to scream, to gnaw and bite his own arms off. His voice betrayed him.

He _broke._

“No,” he choked. He turned. “No, I want to leave. I want off this ride. I can't… do _whatever the fuck_ this is anymore.”

The Outsider frowned. Corvo started walking.

He ended up in the shadow of the Leviathan itself.

The chill was suffocating; he gasped as it gripped his mind and body and held him in place. From the inky depths the boyish form of the Outsider materialized, his emotionless eyes judging Corvo's every move. The pressure weighed him down like the ocean itself; Corvo fought to keep form, to even stand on his own two feet.

 _“And where will you go, Corvo Attano?”_ The Outsider boomed into his ears, echoing in his skull. Every step, every innocent brush of his fingertips brought pounds upon pounds down onto Corvo's shoulders and he buckled under it. “What will you do? You will deteriorate and I'll watch as your instincts eat your body, consume your mind. You will lose yourself. You already feel it, don't you? You can't keep going forward alone, Corvo. That end will only bring you madness.”

Corvo's teeth grew painfully even as he gnashed them together, grinding them down against the mounting suffocation. He whined, fighting the cry clawing its way out of his throat.

“You need help,” the Outsider drawled on. “I've given it to you; I can just as easily take it away, leaving you to a mad dog’s fate.”

He reached out, grabbing Corvo's clenched wrist. Corvo _screamed,_ his left hand on fire as the Mark burned and fizzled away, turning to ash on the wind. He gaped at the Outsider. The god simply stared through him.

And then, all at once, it happened.

The transformation was _violent,_ exploding from his skin in ribbons of flesh and fur and bone, his body lurching and rippling against his will. Corvo _screeched,_ his voice dripping with Void song, warping the very reality around him.

And still the Outsider held on, watching, as cold as stone while Corvo Attano fell apart.

“It's so _disappointing,”_ he said casually, and Corvo's body jerked, ears twitching, the Outsider's voice the only thing cutting through the haze of his fevering mind. “But not unexpected. You were _so_ stubborn and strong-willed, even before I marked you. It's _why_ I marked you; I saw your potential to control this powerful magic given to you. And _my,_ you've been so lovely to behold.”

The Outsider smiled. His grip twisted and Corvo yowled, his heavy form pitching forward.

When he landed on the abyssal stone, the wolf was knocked off of him and he coughed, choking and coiling under the pain.

“You have been given a taste of the fate I saved you from once,” the Outsider said, his smiling eyes venomous and clear and _far_ from friendly. “And can save you from again. Now. Are you willing to try, a second time?”

Corvo breathed, his wrist still bent in the stinging grasp of the Outsider's unrelenting fingers. His blurred vision focused on the huge whale floating past, careening out its sad song. He shivered, coughed deep in his chest, and nodded.

The Outsider grinned.

“Excellent.”

Corvo's palm burned bright once more; the Mark reappeared, clear as day, as if it never left. Corvo eyed it uneasily, fingers flexing as the magic seeded itself into his hand in a sensation that was all too familiar. The Outsider grasped his hand and pulled him off the floor -- a surprisingly _human_ move, but Corvo tried not to dwell on it as he stumbled onto his unsteady feet.

“I would have _hated_ to see you devolve into a rabid beast,” the deity cheerfully continued, his earlier ominous performance seeping away. “I've seen it happen before; some _wonderfully_ individualistic and morally grounded people who refused my help and sadly, passed away from various means hours later.”

Corvo stared at him. The Outsider smiled mischievously. The whale god then gestured with a twirl of his hand; Corvo followed the motion and saw the Heart hanging, still suspended.

Still waiting for him.

"Now, I implore you to _try again."_

Corvo swallowed. He stepped forward and reached out with his thoughts.

 _“I'm sorry,”_ his emotions pleaded. _“I'm sorry I couldn't save you.”_

 _“The dead cannot forgive the living,”_ she told him solemnly.

 _“I never got to say goodbye,”_ he told her desperately as his hand curled around the warm, familiar leather. Only bittersweet affection beat back against his touch.

_“A mind with no direction will only wander.”_

“Tell me what I need to do,” he murmured down to her Heart, her _love,_ in the palm of his hand.

_“She hears your call, but she cannot find you. You are...too good at hiding.”_

“Emily?” Corvo asked, and soft affirmation flowed across the bond his mind had created with the device. “But how do I call to her? How do I know where?”

_“Focus, feel. You have already been searching. Your own heart will find the way home.”_

Corvo breathed out, the Heart an encouraging presence in his palm. He closed his eyes. Across the Void, he let his mind spread out, following the direction given.

The sound of bells on a clear spring day. The smell of petrichor. Memories of lilies from the garden.

_Emily._

When Corvo opened his eyes, there she was.

Except she wasn't there at all _._

 _He_ was in the Void in the Hound Pits Pub; _she_ was far away, facing someone else, her small body covered in a thick jacket, keeping in warmth and repelling the rain. He smelled thick grass and old wood and ancient trees. And something else, a tang that hung heavy like ozone and clung to everything like a shroud.

His neck bristled. There was an unknown magic here. One that was reaching out and wrapping hungry arms around--

“Emily.”

The girl's head turned to a woman's voice. Corvo could see the shine of her eye, the color on her cheeks despite the weather and he _whined._ “We're almost there. Are you ready?”

Emily bit at her lip. She nodded and held a hand out; a gloved hand slipped into hers, cold and wet with rain. Corvo's eyes narrowed and his mind searched for the owner of that hand.

Roses and thorns. The woman's head _jerked;_ unlike Emily, she was fully aware of Corvo as soon as his mind brushed hers. He froze, caught in his intrusion as her eyes locked with his.

 _“What,”_ the woman gaped. A growl grew behind her words, the shadow readying to leap at him or flee from him. _“But-- how did you--”_

From somewhere else, _another_ connection made itself known. Oddly familiar, it rushed in like the wind, blowing up from behind Corvo -- heavy, wild, _powerful._ The woman instinctively shrank away, her grip on Emily tightening as she made to sever the link with Corvo as quickly as she could.

And as she did, that exceptional force threatened to ground her.

 _“Billie,”_ the voice snarled out, and Corvo _choked_ , pressed down and out of the way. The power of the voice was _incredible,_ a massive thing undeterred by the strain of piggy-backing off of the weak connection Corvo had unknowingly created. _“Billie, what do you_ think _you're--”_

But the woman panicked, immediately severing all connection with Corvo and this new individual. The blow-back left Corvo gasping, scrabbling to find himself as he realized that Emily was also gone, Emily, Void, _where--_

“Corvo.”

Suddenly the heavy weight of the new voice slammed into him, hitting his shoulder and coalescing into a rough grip. He blinked, momentarily stunned, and turned towards the newcomer. A man stood there, dressed in red, wearing the outfit of an assassin, steel blue eyes boring into his, and scars… _scars..._

Corvo's mind derailed.

“You,” he snarled, his body and mind _boiling._ His lip snarled and curled and the assassin known as Daud just frowned, his grip tightening where it rested on Corvo's shoulder. “Why are _you--”_

“Where was she, Corvo.”

It wasn't a question, it was an order, a _demand._ And all it did was make Corvo’s rage boil over.

“I will never tell you,” he spat out, hating how the hand on his shoulder didn't budge, hating how he couldn't twist away from those fingers, didn't _want_ to--

“This isn't a _game,_ Attano,” Daud growled back, his teeth and eyes flashing, crackling with underlying arcane energy. It was overwhelming and heady, but Corvo still managed to sneer in response. “If I don't know where my assassin took Emily, she may be dead, or worse.”

 _“Worse?”_ Corvo asked, unable to stop the question from blurting out. “What could possibly be _worse_ than--”

_“Sir?”_

They both froze. Corvo watched as those surgical eyes went wide and he himself bristled in surprise. Daud turned; behind him, a single masked whaler stood.

And then, Corvo felt the weight of fifty more minds slam into his.

_“Daud, sir--”_

_“Daud--”_

_“Sir--”_

_“What--”_

The cacophony grew louder and and louder as a dozen different emotions tangled together and intertwined. Corvo gaped stupidly as Daud's jaw worked, the rage simmering under the surface as his mind compartmentalized each assassin in turn. Through the haze, Corvo only caught glimpses -- confusion, worry, interest, annoyance, irritation and --

_“Wait. Attano?”_

He froze. The mind that reached out to him was familiar, but only just. Corvo remembered it from behind a wall, one that was erected to stop his mind from rampaging into the other's. He found the whaler, and the whaler found him.

The ripple of realization meant more than fifty emotions and inquiries suddenly beelined straight to Corvo. He heard them all in his mind’s eye, all of their fear and confusion and curiosity and statements of _whatwhenhowwhy_ colliding and mixing together. He stumbled under the wave, his panic rising.

“Damn it all,” Daud said, a note of desperation in his own voice and thoughts. His grip tightened, claws digging into the meat of Corvo's arm as he turned to face the bodyguard. Behind him, the voices of the assassins muffled down to a murmur and faded out; it took Corvo a second to realize that _Daud_ had blocked the rest of them out --five dozen or so voices, in an instant, and _all_ _on his own._

“Corvo,” he said again, his voice as clear and as sharp as ice. Even so, Daud looked oddly sad, but he managed to shake the expression away. “Find me and you'll find Emily. That's a promise I intend to keep.”

Daud adjusted his grip; Corvo didn't take the opportunity to jerk away.

“A clue,” Daud pleaded. _“Please._ Anything.”

Corvo stared at him. His eyes traced the scars skirting down Daud's face, realizing they were like _his_ scars, that years ago some wild wolf did to Daud what Daud to him--

“Corvo.” The assassin sounded so _desperate._ Corvo felt lightheaded.

_Death or worse. Death or worse._

“Old wood,” muttered out, despite his earlier proclamation. “Wet grass. Fields. And a magic, a different kind of magic from ours.”

 _Ours._ Spirits, why did he say --

Warm appreciation filled him from head to toe, making his senses spin. He closed his eyes, soaking in the emotion, but as soon as he registered it it was gone, severed, and he was thrown bodily from the Void.

\------

Corvo hit the wood floor of the attic with a _thud,_ knees giving out and buckling under him. Sweat dripped from his face and he gasped in a breath; outside the thunder crashed like a breaking wave, shaking the whole pub. In his hand, the Heart beat wildly, reminding him that what he just witnessed wasn't all some crazy fever dream.

He sat up, body shaking and head swimming. Despite his exhaustion, his rigor was renewed with a greater clarity and sense of purpose.

_Find me. Find Emily._

Fur flowed and bones popped and a shaggy body turned towards the window, pushing it open and slithering out. Despite the rain and the depth of night, Corvo moved with grace, pushing his wolfen body with every beat of that second heart in his head.

_I’ll find you, Daud. And when I do, I better find Emily, too._

He just prayed he wasn't already too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'it'll be a short chapter,' she said.
> 
> 'just 3k words,' she said. 
> 
> hahaha.


	11. With Borrowed Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys did you miss me

The rain was deafening in her ears as it splattered onto her leather hood, the sound a racket on her senses. At least it kept the wet out and the warm in, but it didn't stop her stomach from running cold from fear and second-guesses.

She shivered despite herself. She stood outside of decrepit brick gates -- a single gaping maw in a wall that stretched away in either direction. She couldn't see where the wall ended; it disappeared into the shadows of vegetation, into the fog hanging heavy in the early season rain. Inside the broken opening was a destroyed, overgrown garden, complete with a broken fountain and a lawn far past needing cut. Barely visible through the fog and gathering gloom was the lurking form of a mansion; abandoned and old and full of secrets, it loomed like a sentinel, waiting for them to arrive. She bit her lip as she stared at it, the size of it warping in her vision, rushing in on her as if the house itself was a ghost and its curse was pulling her in.

Her hair prickled on the back of her neck. She tried to take a step forward and felt her feet rooted in the watery ground.

_What was she doing here?_

“Emily.”

Her heart jumped to life as she snapped her head up to her companion, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Dressed in similar leathers and wearing her heavy whaler mask, Billie held out a gloved hand. Emily looked at the hand: typically, the offered palm was a reassurance, one to take instantly. But looking up into those empty glass eyes, noting the running red of Billie's master assassin jacket…

Emily felt her throat close tight.

“We're almost there. Are you ready?”

Emily hesitated. Billie twitched her fingers. Finally she relented, biting her lip and letting her small hand slip into Billie's.

Billie stiffened like a board, her grip tightening suddenly. Emily gasped, looking from the hand to Billie's face -- who wasn't looking at Emily, but somewhere far away.

Like someone was _calling_ her.

Or, at least, that's what _Emily_ called it when the wolves talked to each other secretly, using their minds to send messages. Emily wondered how they did it; she sometimes received their conversations in her mind but could never respond the same way, no matter how hard she tried. She could only talk aloud, her thoughts not attuned to such a special and intimate language. Daud had showed her the magic that made it work; had offered his hand with the strange, black markings. The curves and lines had reminded her of Sokolov’s instruments used for drawing maps  and measuring distance. Emily had wondered absently if Daud's mark pointed him to his wolves like a compass: the magic, his map.

If Corvo had a similar mark, could he, perhaps, find her too?

But that was a quiet fantasy. The reality was that she was here, standing in the relentless rain, staring down a creepy mansion, and stuck with the unmoving form of Billie Lurk, deep in conversation.

Emily frowned.

Usually a call didn't _take so long._

“Billie?” She finally queried. “Who is it?”

Billie didn't respond. Instead she jerked her head sharply, a subtly _aggressive_ move, her chest heaving as she came back around. She turned quickly, holding tight to Emily's hand, beginning to walk with no warning. Emily stumbled, crying out incredulously as she found her footing, all while Billie tugged her hurriedly along.

“Wait! _Billie!_ What's wrong? Was it Daud?” She was used to the Whalers giving her _some_ sort of verbal translation. Being left in the dark only made her more upset. “Is he okay? It didn't look okay.”

“It was nothing.”

Emily jogged while Billie hurried, their boots sinking into the mud before coming back out with a loud _squelch._

“Didn't look like nothing. And only _Daud_ can stop you guys dead in your tracks like that.”

Billie huffed out, annoyed.

“It was _worse_ than Daud,” Billie finally relented. “We need to get inside before it gets dark, Emily, I fear someone may be following us.”

Emily looked around as they passed through the crumbling archway of the gate, eyeing the shadows at the edge, looking for any intruders. She didn't find anything but more rain.

“Are you sure? Who would follow us?”

The blades of grass whispered while the sky spoke. They rushed past the old marble fountain-- cracked, crumbling, and the head of the center statue now partially hidden in six inches of murky, disgusting water.

“There are many who want you for themselves, Emily. People who killed your mother, who ruined Corvo. It’s why Daud took you, but that avenue also is no longer completely safe. But once we are in the manor the magic of this place will keep us hidden and protected.”

Emily looked at her then, Billie's form barely visible in the cloudy twilight. As they neared the old house, lights turned on in the windows and figures peered down, watching their approach. When Emily blinked, they were gone.

The two of them cleared the front stairs quickly to avoid the final pass of rain. Emily caught her breath as Billie turned her attention to the sodden double doors.

“There's _magic_ here?”

“Yes, Emily. A magic that runs in your family, in your very blood.”

Emily's throat ran dry, unable to find the words to reply. Her heart beat against her chest and some of her old excitement returned, the same excitement that she felt when Billie told her she knew where she still had family. _Real_ family, her flesh and blood, which she’s now told is also _magic…_

They reached the doors, pushing open the rotting wood with the effort that comes from fighting aged friction. As soon as they were inside the sound of the rain immediately deafened and the stuffy, close humidity of the house hit her senses all at once. Emily turned, removed her hood and looked around, getting her bearings.

The large foyer and double stairs were in disrepair, the tile cracking on the floor and the chandelier hanging sideways, threatening injury with its inevitable fall. Paintings sat on the floor, their canvases torn, their oiled surfaces peeling. In the other rooms the floors gave way to the basement, where the collected rainwater flooded considerably. The whole place carried the sweet scent of decaying plant matter, of the building slowly being reclaimed by the earth. Emily puffed her cheeks out and took a step further inside.

The air crackled. Suddenly, vines appeared from the floor-- long and thick and black, they grew incredibly fast, the new wood creaking loudly as it sprouted. Two vines, their blood red flowers shining in the gloom, met and wove together, the branches shrieking as wood met wood, crashing into cradling shapes. Emily would have been terrified if she wasn't already completely fascinated, the ballet of wood a captivating sight. It finally ended in a shape that vaguely resembled a chair -- and upon that chair, a form materialized.

Void coalesced into human, one that was tall and lanky and well dressed in a pantsuit so green it nearly looked black. Roses sat on -- no, _grew from_ \--  her collar, and the vines they made coiled down her arms and over her long black gloves. An upticked smile on a sharp face greeted her as the figure stepped up and off the plant-like chair; light grey eyes below undercut dark hair turned to meet hers.

Emily gaped. She knew those eyes. They were just like... _looked_ just like…

“Emily Kaldwin,” Billie said softly from somewhere over her shoulder. “Meet Delilah Copperspoon. She is your mother's half-sister.”

The women narrowed her large eyes and bowed to Emily. The smile was subtle, dangerous. Emily's skin pricked with suspicion at the display, and when Delilah held out her hand and looked back up into her face, she found herself frozen.

“Hello my darling,” she said, her words silky.

“My mother's… half-sister?” Emily asked, paralyzed under that steely gaze. “So that makes you my…”

“Aunt, yes,” Delilah assured, and as much as her heart screamed _no_ , she could not refute it. The resemblance was there even if she didn't want to admit it.

Was this really all the family she had left?

Before Emily could dwell further, Delilah was pulling her into a hug, bringing her in tight and wrapping her up close. Emily started at the sudden embrace, not sure how to take the gesture even as sank into it. The sigh escaping Delilah's chest was palpable as she cradled Emily's wet and tiny body close to her.

“It's _so good_ to finally meet you.”

 

\------

 

His head buzzed with the background chatter of dozens of different voices -- a smattering of individual notes that gathered into a strange harmony in his skull, like crickets in the night. Except where crickets chirruped pleasantly when together, these voices spoke of fear, of uncertainty, of questions he wasn't ready to answer.

He didn't cut them out or quiet them down, however. Instead, he formulated a plan with his thoughts open like a book, with all his different Whalers drifting in and asking for orders or offering suggestions. It was smooth and natural and _how it_ _always used to be_. The realization was a bitter one, surrounding thoughts of a time before the hit on the Empress, before his guilt, before he had shuttered his emotions from his Bonded because one overwhelming, powerful mind had consumed him.

But now that secret was out. They all knew the state of the Royal Protector now.

They had all seen him in their minds eye, conversing with Corvo Attano not hours earlier.

“Daud,” a soft voice said, a whisper of Void following the words. Daud looked up from his desk, sending out a vein of curiosity towards the figure that just appeared in his open office. Without asking he knew it was Rinaldo: one of his oldest, one of his first Bonded. The unwavering loyalty was evident in stance and emotion. Daud nodded to him in acknowledgement.

“Have you found anything?” Daud asked, and felt a flicker of disappointment proceed Rinaldo’s next words.

“Unfortunately, nothing yet of Emily. Billie left no trail. She was clever to leave during such a strong downpour; her scent just got washed away with the rain.”

 _I taught her well,_ he couldn't help but think bitterly, forgetting his mind was loud once again, and was mildly surprised when Rinaldo bowed his head and sent calm thoughts out to him.

“You cannot blame yourself, Daud. None of us saw this coming.”

“I should have,” he said soberly, looking back down at the mess surrounding his desk. It was littered with paper, with notes on the Tower, on the river, and anything containing sightings of other _magical_ figures other than themselves.

“I knew those witches existed, I just underestimated them. They were always on the far side of the city, never close to our territory. They wouldn't be so stupid to push that boundary, not when just the scent of my patrols sent them running.”

“So what do you think changed?” Rinaldo asked, curious.

Daud’s cheek clenched, teeth grinding down and wishing to lengthen. He thought of Billie; his thoughts desperately searched for her but again found the path was met with thorns that repelled his magic.

“They found a way to sneak in undetected,” Daud replied, acutely aware of the sadness in his tone. “And that's my own oversight.”

“And Emily?”

Daud turned and paced away from the desk. He stopped short of Rinaldo, who visibly straightened so close to his mentor.

“I haven't figured that out yet, but the best bet is that since she will be Empress and she's missing city-wide, they will use her as leverage to get something that they want.  What that something is, I don't yet know.” He took pause and mentally sifted through the Whalers he sent out into the storm. “Have the other scouts returned yet?”

“Not yet, but at least one of them has said they have a potential lead.”

Daud nodded to Rinaldo, understanding. He then clenched his fist, gnarly claws forming as the magic flowed through his body and thoughts.

He _pulled._

Within moments the air was filled with the wind of appearing Whalers, whispering through the Void to come to his call, one after another. He held the burning magic, counting each Whaler in turn, only releasing it when all were present. Three wolves and two humans stood in his office, wet and sodden but eyes all burning for his command.

“Who found the lead?” He growled to them, eyes flashing as he turned to each of them. Galia's huge grey head bowed, lip curling.

 _“It was me, sir,”_ she told him, her thoughts such a tangled knot of emotions that Daud had to concentrate to find her words. _“Down at the river's edge. She said she saw a massive wolf passing the flooding waters, breaking out of the city's blockade.”_

“She?” Daud questioned, bristling despite himself, barely holding himself together.

 _“Lizzy Stride, sir.”_ Galia concluded, and Daud snarled at the name, his human disguise wavering at the edges.

_“She said she's willing to cut a deal with you.”_

Daud cursed and wasted no time shifting. His body finally unfolded, the claws sprouting and the fur rippling from his head down. His scars burned as his body grew, and his Bonded took a step back, their own reverence more than apparent.

They were _his;_ all of them. But one them had turned away, corrupted by an unknown source. Perhaps it was his fault. Perhaps not.

Either way, whatever was waiting for him on the other side would feel the full force of his protective wrath.

 _“Rinaldo, Rulfio -- you both will come with me to deal with this,”_ he snapped together as his massive form shook. _“Thomas, Connor -- stay here and follow procedure. Keep the novices calm and the group on lockdown. And keep an eye out for…”_

He didn't want to say it. He _couldn't:_ how could he? There was no way to verbalize his connection with Corvo Attano when his emotions didn't understand it, let alone his logical mind. Connor, however, just nodded his wolfish head in understanding, the only other Whaler who had intimate contact with the Royal Protector’s turbulent thoughts.

 _“We'll see to it, Master,”_ he said, his seriousness unbecoming. Daud nodded all the same.

Turning to Galia, he let his body burn with energy unreleased.

_“Galia? Lead the way.”_

 

\------

 

“You'll have to excuse the mess of the place, my vixens still haven't been able to decorate as they please.”

Emily looked around as she ascended the stairs, listening to Delilah as she lead the way. The stairs -- or, what was left of them -- wound up and out of sight. In places, the floor was so destroyed Billie had needed to transverse her across, holding her hand as they leapt through Void to reach the other side. She wondered why Delilah would stay in such a rundown place, but after the third long expanse crossed with the help of Billie's powers, she stopped guessing why magical people stayed in such dilapidated architecture.

“It's okay,” Emily said, looking at the vines covering the walls. “Everyone has their own tastes.” Delilah laughed, the sound soft and inviting.

“They certainly do, though my vixens can be quite… eclectic.”

Emily’s brow furrowed, watching her aunt closely. “Why do you call them that?”

“Oh,” Delilah’s eyes flickered from Emily to Billie, her expression unreadable. “You don't know?”

Emily shook her head. If she _knew,_ she wouldn't _ask._ Why were adults so strange? Delilah only got stranger as a smile slid easily across her face, holding no warmth. Her left hand twisted and a mark under her glove glowed hot; Emily gaped, seeing the same mark Daud carried burning briefly on her hand before searing away again.

Void appeared like vines and a sleek lupine form bounded into being, landing next to Delilah. A sharp face and scorching yellow eyes caught sight of Emily before twisting around Delilah, all slim limbs and red fur and fast features. Emily caught the afterthought of vines winding up the dark green legs of the giant fox, twisting up and into the ruff of fur surrounding the vixen's neck.

A flash of smoke and a woman -- tall, severe, well-dressed, dark hair pulled up and back -- appeared in the fox’s place, her attention completely trained on Delilah.

“My lady Delilah,” she cooed, her body already leaning towards the one who gave her borrowed power. “How can I be of service?”

“Breanna,” Delilah said, voice sharp and commanding despite the smile on her lips. “Good to see you to my side so quickly.”

“You know I will be here as soon as you call, my mistress.”

“And that is why I love you most, Breanna,” she said, her voice going silky. Somewhere behind her, Emily felt Billie stiffen. “How are plans proceeding? Are the newest members settling in well?”

“Of course,” Breanna beamed, filled with pride in her work. “Everything is on schedule. I even restocked your paints, just in case you were running low at this most crucial stage.”

“Nothing Sokolov will miss too much, I hope.”

“That old man is too busy torturing girls for a cure at the command of the Lord Regent. He never ever saw me.”

Delilah started, body turning sharply.

_“Torturing girls?”_

“Yes, Delilah.”

Delilah spun angrily on her heel, stalking away. Pulled out of her reverie, Emily jumped into action, trotting after her and Breanna, Billie behind her.

“Bring those girls to me. Sokolov doesn't deserve to harm them anymore, and we always need new recruits.”

“Of course,” Breanna said, bowing. In another flurry of Void she became a fox again. Her pointed face, so very different from Daud's wolves, turned to Emily again before bounding off, gone in a wink.

With Breanna away, Delilah turned back to Emily, a look of triumph on her face.

“What did you think? _Vixens._ Aren't they _stunning?”_

Emily blinked. The heat at her back told her Billie was _right there,_ as if she too wished to hear the young Empress’ opinion.

“They…” she looked around. “They are very pretty.”

“And they follow my every whim. I give them my life, my _love,_ and they share in my overwhelming power.” Her grin widened, and she threw her hands out. “Daud's wolves are impressive; they are massive, powerful shards of _wolfssegner_ magic, each of them. But they have a fatal flaw, and it's that Daud doesn't _care_ about his Bonded like _I_ care for mine.”

“Yes he does,” Emily spat out, incredulous. She felt Billie shift behind her, heard her name uttered softly in her ear as Delilah's smile fell to a frown. “He told me. He _showed_ me. His pups are his family, he can't take them in unless he cares to.”

Delilah's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, her cold eyes flickering back to Billie. “His _pups?”_

Emily realized too late what she said.

“T-that's _my_ word,” she mumbled out, her voice falling, her cheeks reddening. “I call them that.”

Delilah chuckled darkly. “Oh that's _adorable._ And also a lie.”

She spat the word out and it hit Emily like a blow.

“No it's not! Daud doesn't lie to me. He told me--”

“He told you that he was protecting you?” Delilah recited, and Emily's inside ran cold. “He told you that Corvo was coming for you, didn't he? He kept you in that watery district away from your dying city not out of kindness but out of self-preservation, Emily.”

“No he didn't!” She trilled out, her voice wavering in anger and doubt. “He told me Corvo would come, and I stayed because he kept me safe. He-he wouldn't _use me.”_

“And why not? Why else would he take the only child of the late Empress, the Empress who he killed for coin with his own two hands?”

Emily's throat caught. If Delilah's earlier words felt like a blow, this was a dagger in her gut. It twisted with every word, with every revealed fact. She saw Delilah blink in surprise before her vision was swimming with tears.

She spun, water already threatening to fall as she kicked Billie in the shin, _hard._ It wasn't enough to even phase the woman she wished to inflict pain on.

“Emily--”

“YOU LIED TO ME!” She screamed through the tears. “YOU ALL LIED TO ME! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME, BILLIE?”

She threw punch after weak punch as she cried. Curiously, under her palms, Billie's body began to shake.

“I told you she didn't _know,_ Delilah. Couldn't you have...”

Billie trailed off and put a reassuring hand on Emily's arm. Emily wanted to pull away, but couldn't bear to leave the comfort of Billie's body as she wailed into the leather fabric.

From somewhere over her shoulder, Delilah scoffed.

“Couldn't I have _what,_ Billie? Lied to a girl who has had months of lying? Who was torn from her family unjustly and then tricked by the gang that killed her mother? No, that's _not_ why I had you bring my niece, my _family,_ to me.”

Billie's grip tightened. Something about her body coiled, as if her emotions were in conflict, as if she wanted to attack. Emily felt the heat of it, felt the vibration of the growl in her chest, and _recoiled._

The emotion passed as quickly as it came. When Emily next looked up into Billie's mask, she was subdued, _deflated._ A different hand, slim and cool, slipped onto her shoulder instead.

“Emily.” It was Delilah. Emily turned to her, her eyes still wet, her face still hot. Delilah's eyes swam with such concern it made her heart ache. “It's okay. I'm here now. Billie brought you here because she knew -- of the lies, and of the danger Daud presented. I'm the only family you need now. I'll keep you safe. _Forever.”_

The weight of everything crashed down on Emily like a wave. Daud. _Daud_ had killed her mother, had ended her life so fast. And people blamed Corvo for that, had landed him in jail.

But wait…

Corvo was _out_ of jail now. He was trying to find her.

“What about Corvo?” She asked, her voice broken like her heart. “Corvo was on his way to find me.”

Delilah's eyes hardened over and, for a moment, flicked over Emily's shoulder before her grip adjusted.

“Is that something _Daud_ told you, too?”

“Well, yes, but--” _Please,_ she thought. _I have to believe this is true._ “But I _know_ he's coming. I can feel it.”

Delilah's look was one of immense pity.

“I’m afraid, my darling,” she said solemnly. “That they executed Corvo publicly. He can't come find you because he's _dead.”_

 

\------

 

 _"Man alive,_ never thought I'd see you spending the last of your Empress blood money on saving the Empress' own daughter.”

Lizzy Stride tossed the purse of coin up and down, up and down, flashing Daud a toothy grin to show off her famous pointed enamel. He scowled as the leather juggled between her hands, then was tossed to one of her men who greedily tried to look inside. The chastising smack was swift and sharp.

“Careful with that, Phil, that's cursed coin right there.”

“Only you would be excited about receiving coin cursed with the blood of a dead Empress,” Daud growled out, arms folded and body swaying with the slow movement of the _Undine._ The ship was well enough; an old whale trawler refitted once it was stolen by Lizzy, it was swiftly used to give her full command of the Wrenhaven waters and the Dead Eels Gang. No other gangs went near the water, lest they have their skin flayed off, their bones ground down, or any other number of nasty deaths Lizzy was rumored to enact on her foes.

Daud wasn't sure how much he believed. Not that his Bonded ever had anything to actively _fear_ from Lizzy; they stayed out of the river by principle instead of any sort of self-preservation.

“When the blood money is this good, you know I'll take it any day, Daud,” she said, teeth clicking with their artificial sharp ends. He rolled his eyes and kept his attention off her. She, however, wasn't done with him; she strode over and leaned a lazy arm against the railing as the boat cut through the rain and the fast swelling river.

“So what brings you way out here on the water, ol’ chap?” She asked, popping her _p._ From under his sodden hood he looked around, noting his whalers in their respective outlook positions on the boat. On their right, the huge blockade keeping the rest of the Isles separate from the sick and dying Dunwall loomed high above before being passed by.

“One of my men went rogue,” he answered simply. “And I don't take kindly to defectors.”

Not that he ever had anyone defect before. Whalers had _left_ the gang, sure, but they asked and he let them go. This was different. _Billie_ was different.

“I bet you don't,” she hummed, and he was tempted to lift a lip and show her what _real_ fangs looked like. “But I thought I'd ask. _Weird happenings_ on the water as of late, causing quite a stir.”

“And what's that supposed to mean?”

Lizzy snorted and pushed away from the railing, tossing a signal to her second-in-command at the helm. The _Undine_ tilted to the right, avoiding a few buoys signaling the city edge. Then she turned back to Daud, hip cocked.

“You know what I'm talking about, you ain't _shit stupid,_ Daud. I saw that big ass dog jump out of Coldridge and right into my waters. Dunno where _he_ went, of course, if I had he woulda made a great _pet.”_ Her grin was wide and gnarly. “But you already know what pet I got, and one is enough.”

“Please keep me out of your nasty _interests,_ Lizzy,” Daud rumbled out, doing another visual check on his Whalers through the rain. In this weather, at this hour, there was so little to look at, that anything that wasn't Lizzy was a welcome distraction.

“So is that a _no_ still, on turning me too?” She said, disregarding his quickly eroding patience. He bristled, the reaction involuntary, and she laughed.

“Why don't you ask Granny Rags?” He ground out, teeth gnashing. “I'm not crazy enough to want your thoughts bouncing around in my head.”

“Oh, but you hate yourself enough to have _his_ thoughts in there instead?” she smirked, her laughter barking. “You really are a masochist.”

He _growled,_ heat rising with his hackles, but not another word came out as Rinaldo appeared by his side, materializing out of fog and rain.

“Daud,” he said simply, before nodding to Lizzy. “Stride. We’re here. The scent and scenery match what we gleaned from Attano’s intel.”

Daud nodded and turned to Lizzy, eyes hard. She nodded back and brought her fingers to her mouth. The whistle was shrill and clear: any deckhand in earshot jumped into action, throwing commands and readying the boat for docking. As Lizzy's men worked, she turned back to Daud, her face suddenly set and serious.

“You know what this place is, right? It's the ol’ Brigmore estate. They built this fancy ass house out here to avoid taxes, and then the whole family went under and lost the damned place to pay off debts or drugs or whatever shit nobles get up to.” Her eyes darted between Daud and Rinaldo, a flicker of emotion crossing her features. Daud didn't need his nose to tell that emotion was fear.

“Someone's been hanging out in this house, gathering _weird_ supplies. Like wood and candles and _bodies_ and flowers and shit. It weirds me out, I don't wanna be seen, so I ain't pulling you in close. You’re magic, right? You can make it to shore from here just fine.”

Daud walked over to the edge of the deck and peered out in the gloom. The creeping grey light of morning was barely visible along the edge of the river, making the old mansion just visible from the riverbank. As the _Undine_ slowed and anchored, Daud began formulating his plan. He called to the other Whalers: they were by his side instantly, ready for his orders.

“Stay here,” he told each of them in turn. “We need a ride back to Dunwall, so make sure this boat doesn't leave this dock. I'll go in and look for Emily and Billie myself.”

Immediately, there was protest.

“Sir, do you think that wise?” Rinaldo questioned. “These are _witches,_ not simple assassination targets.”

“All the more reason for you to leave this to me. Only I have the magic to hit them where it hurts.”

“You're outnumbered, Daud,” Rulfio told him. “At least let me go with you, I have the experience.”

“Less variables makes infiltration easier. As a solo mission, all I _have_ to do is get Emily back safely.”

“Let me go. Let me kill _her.”_

Daud blinked. They all looked to Galia; her anger had her shaking, her limbs smoking with barely contained magic. When he met her eye where they lay behind those goggles, she didn't look away.

“I can't do that Galia, you know I can't.”

“Why not?” Her rage had her voice warping, her body seething. “I should've-- sir, I _knew_ her doubts, but I never thought-- _I swear if she hurts Emily--”_

“I'll do what needs to be done.”

The unwavering conviction in his voice had them all shuddering, falling into line. Galia bowed her head, taking a breath as she looked away. Daud put a hand on her shoulder to ground her in the present.

“Billie has betrayed us all with this act; me, the Whalers, and most of all, Emily. And she'll answer for all of that before the day is done.”

Galia finally nodded, assured Daud wouldn't fall back on his word. He nodded as well, pulling away from his Whalers.

“Stay here. Stay out of sight. And only come looking if you can't feel me.”

They all nodded, returning to their posts on the _Undine._ Lizzy gave him one last disinterested look.

“If you ain't back on this boat by then, I'll kiss your sorry ass goodbye,” she sneered at him. “You can curse me with your fancy coin but can't curse me with fucking witches.”

_Witches._

They were waiting for him, holed up in that huge house, assuredly tipped off by Billie of his coming. But Daud had come this far. The end was in sight.

Nothing was going to stop him now.

He clenched his fist. He let his magic burn. And then he disappeared off the bow of the Undine and into the inky early morning light.

 

\------

 

Billie Lurk looked out over the desecrated grounds of the neglected Brigmore Manor, watching the rain finally break in favor of the pink-grey of morning, and wondered, not for the first time, if she wasn't making some huge mistake.

For months now, she'd questioned Daud's judgement. She had wondered his true intentions and as he withdrew his mind, her suspicions grew and grew. She wondered what he was hiding, what was so important to keep a secret from _all of them._ She had feared his decisions. She feared for the Whalers. She was _convinced_ Emily was the biggest threat to the guild, and nobody saw it except her.

But now?

Now she had seen the stricken face of Corvo Attano in her mind, seeing her carrying away his charge, his _future Empress,_ to, what? Her salvation? Her _“family?”_

And then Daud had been there, his mind and his Bond suffocating, seeing her through _Corvo's_ mind, of all people.

Had _that_ been the secret all this time? That Daud had somehow _bonded_ with the Royal Protector? Had he taken Emily from the start for _Corvo Attano?_

_Was that the plan all along?_

Regardless, one of them was assuredly on their way here now. She'd most likely meet her end by one of their hand.

She hugged her arms. She was going to die.

It was only a matter of time.

A presence behind her, a sickly sweet caress against her mind. She flinched, not needing to be told to know who it was.

“Emily is resting,” Delilah said, coming up behind Billie with words gentle, as if not to spook her. _Her,_ Billie Lurk, a giant whale-wolf of fable and second only to the Knife of Dunwall.

Claws sprouted, digging into the meat of her arms.

“You lied to her.”

Delilah paused and Billie smiled, feeling the change in atmosphere instantly.

“What does it matter? She needs to know this is her family now.” Delilah's voice was no longer soft, no longer tender. “How is it any different than what Daud did, pulling her out of her Tower room?”

“Daud never _lied_ to her to get her to cooperate,” Billie snarled. She turned to face Delilah, her eyes flashing. “She was given potentially empty promises, yes, but Daud never falsified the truth. She never asked who killed her mother. And she _knew_ Corvo escaped prison. If she finds out that you didn't tell her the truth--”

“She never will, because _nobody will tell her,”_ Delilah said, her fist clenching as her words darkened with each syllable. Billie's breath hitched as her throat slowly closed, feeling the vines as they grew up and abound her neck. “You think yourself so _grand,_ Billie. But I know your future. You are nothing but Daud's second who brings about Daud's _downfall.”_

The coils twisted just as she mustered enough strength to transverse away, out of Delilah's grasp. She ended up on the level above, gasping for air as she took off in a sprint. Her body morphed with each measured step until she was that large auburn wolf, lithely jumping through the mansion, her mind stretching for that of a tiny lost Empress.

 _“Emily!”_ She called out, _“Please, Emily, where are you?”_

 _“Too late to have a turn of heart now,”_ a voice chortled in her mind. The air materialized into the fox-like body of Breanna, blocking the path forward. Breanna laughed out, shrill and high and broken, before needle fangs were going right for Billie's shaggy throat. Billie dodged and kicked her off, disappearing to reappear down the hall, the vixen hot on her heels.

Billie panicked, looking along her mental map, searching, _scouring_ for Emily, just a trace of her mind somewhere in the mansion--

 _There!_ But she wasn't awake, instead in some sort of trance. And there were candles, and skulls, and a _painting--_

Billie's body stumbled, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. In that second of dropped guard, the vines caught her; thick and coiling, the heavy arms of wood, wrapped her limbs, piercing her with inch-thick thorns. She yowled, her mind fogged in immediate, burning pain. The wolf smoked away, and she was left there, panting and vulnerable, as the foxes circled and Delilah sauntered up close.

She looked Billie up and down, tutting her tongue as Billie struggled against the plants. Every thorn must have put some sort of poison in her; her movements slowed, her thoughts went sluggish. She didn't even notice how she was lowered into Delilah's arms, who looked at her like a lost lover.

“I'm so sorry, Billie,” Delilah said somberly, fingers ghosting her exposed face as foxes giggled and shrieked in the distance. “I had hoped for a longer business relationship with you, but I'm afraid we're no longer in need of your services.”

The world swam; suddenly they were outside, the scent of wet grass sharp in her nose and the sound of water loud in her ears. She blinked, her drug haze beginning to fade. She tried to struggle, but Delilah's arms were like iron. She turned her head and glimpsed the rushing flood waters of the Wrenhaven below.

“I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other again, Billie Lurk.”

Delilah dropped her, watching with dead eyes as Billie fell to her doom.

Everything happened in slow motion. The wind was in her ears and the sky in her eyes, but the ground didn't seem _so_ far away. She clenched her fist but nothing happened and then she was hitting the water _hard,_ the dark murkiness sweeping her away from the mansion.

Nothing was more disorienting, more terrifying, than the Wrenhaven’s merciless waters. As soon as she gained purchase she was pushed back under, tumbled away from life-giving oxygen. Her mouth opened to scream and her lungs filled with liquid. She reached out for _someone, anyone please, I'm dying!_

She was yanked bodily to the surface. Pulled with disorienting force as she was lurched to shore, onto mud and grass and ground. Billie coughed, heaved, vomited water, coughed again. Air never tasted so sweet in her lungs and she cried from the relief of it.

She opened her eyes, looked to the light, and saw the dark and furious face of Daud glaring down at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that this jumps around a bit. Essentially, a lot is happening in more than one place at the same time, and I wanted the feeling of urgency to come across in this chapter. It all happens in a few hours, time, but it all feels much shorter/longer to those who experienced it. 
> 
> As for Corvo, well, don't worry. He's got his own troubles.
> 
> Should be updated more regularly now. C: Till next time~~


	12. With Birthday Wishes

Daud had half a mind to leave Billie in the frothy, wild river. He had half a thought of letting her get what she deserved -- but then her stricken fear reached him, battering against his anger, and his instincts overrode his actions. _Instinct,_ that fickle thing that made him _care,_ even when he didn't want to. At least, that's what Daud told himself as his claws dug deep into a red coat, yanking Billie free of the water with the ease born from his great wolfen body. He tossed her onto the grassy shore with little preamble, waiting for her lungs to clear before her maskless face looked into his now-human eyes, scared but grateful and full of too much emotion.

She coughed, weakly croaked out his name, and then recoiled immediately as the weight of all his mental anger bore down on her.

To say he was pissed didn't even _begin_ to cover it.

“Billie, you better start talking and you better start _now,”_ he hissed, the power of his Bond rooting her to the ground, keeping her on her hands and knees. She didn't meet his eye but then again, she didn't need to, and he bristled as the barest hints of an apology came limping across their mental connection.

“Don't give me _that,”_ he snarled as his hand reached down, grabbing her lapels and pulling her to her feet. Billie weakly leaned on him, her head lolling and her cheeks red against her copper skin, wet lines streaking down to her chin from her eyes.

Spirits, she was _crying._

He retreated his anger, just a bit, and Billie sagged in relief as the draining emotion was lifted off of her shoulders. He looked her over, noting that the scratches on her coat and arms and neck were too conveniently placed to be from random debris in the water.

“The witches,” he mumbled out, a hint of softness returning to his voice. Billie's head dropped, as if in shame. “They turned on you.”

“I'm sorry Daud,” she said, _whimpered,_ and he was reminded so much of that young red hood that followed this big bad wolf home so many years ago. “She told me she would take care of the girl, and I believed her. I thought Emily being with us would expose us to attack...And I had all that fear and jealousy…”

Her throat tightened up. Daud breathed out, shaking her shoulder a bit.

“I'm sorry for shutting you out-- that one is on me. But _you_ are not off the hook for this stunt you’ve pulled, not yet.” He started walking, pulling her along as they circled the manor grounds in the gathering light. “Tell me what happened. Start from the beginning “

And so Billie told Daud everything. She sent him memories of her jealousy, of her fear of Daud's retreating mind, of how fear grew into mistrust and hatred when Emily arrived. How she wandered and found the witches, and how those witches offered more than what Daud could. She disclosed how the witches worked her fear slowly into a strong disloyalty and how Delilah coerced her to bring Emily here under innocent pretenses.

But now, those pretenses were gone. And Billie hadn't realize it until it was too late.

“I thought I was helping,” she said as they slunk low through the grass, “I thought, if I brought them Emily, you would come back around, Emily would have her family, and everything would go… back to _normal.”_ her fists flexed, claws growing longer with every clench. “But I was made a fool of. Delilah lied to me, to Emily. And now, I fear what she'll do to the girl.”

They stopped outside a wrecked part of the property wall, where the section opened up to an overgrown garden with a clear view of the back of the house. Daud smoked into a rundown shed, staying out of sight of the house, Billie right behind him.

“And this Delilah,” he mused as he carefully handled feathers, dyes, dried grass, and incense. “Is she really related to Emily? Or is that the lie?”

“Yes,” Billie started, keeping an eye on the grounds. “No. It's complicated.” She shook her head, turning back to Daud. “I don't know how much of her victimized story is real but… the old Emperor had an affair before Jessamine was born. Delilah was that child. She was thrown from the castle and 20-some odd years later she's ended up the leader of this fox coven.”

Daud listened as she spoke, his simmering anger being channeled into all of his senses as he searched the immediate grounds. A few crackling, glowing skulls showed up in his vision and he frowned at them.

“We've dealt with witch foxes before. They've all been weak, easily dispatched. What makes Delilah different?”

Billie fell silent. He turned to scrutinize her behavior and found her stricken, looking away, her hands folding over each other.

“She's a true _Wolf Charmer,_ Daud,” she whispered. He shifted, bristled, a chill running down his spine. “She's not like you, she's the real deal. Once she was in my head, I…” she shook herself. “I couldn't get her out.” He could hear the blood pump in his ears but Billie kept going, her voice wavering.

“It's why she wants Emily, Daud. She thinks Emily is one, too.”

Silence fell between them. Billie stood stock still, waiting for Daud's reaction, but he just breathed hard out his nose, looking away.

“I knew about Emily,” he confessed, feeling Billie's shock more than seeing it. “She’ll be a powerful one, too, seeing as how all the Whalers felt it.”

“You _knew?”_ Her whisper was appalled, almost _horrified. “_ You knew and you brought her to us and you didn't tell _any_ of us?”

There was so much remorse in his voice when he turned back to face her.

“I should have told you, Billie. I'm so sorry. I just figured it wouldn't matter once Corvo came to collect her.”

Billie just laughed, a hollow thing.

“Yes, _Corvo_ , he's in your mind now, isn't he? I know, I saw him.” Her words were hard again, more like _Billie_ than a whimpering pup, her eyes like fire. “Why are you here, anyway? Didn't you come to kill me? Or are you just doing this for the Royal Protector to not kill _you?”_

Daud bristled, his body smoking with unused arcane energy.

“I'm here to save a _girl,_ Billie.”

“Are you saving her because you want to, or because _Corvo_ wants you to? Or because you can't refuse the _very dangerous future potential_ of a Wolf Empress?” Billie asked him, her voice rising with each word. Something in the garden stirred, splitting Daud's attention for half a second.

“I can't believe I was right about her all along,” she continued when Daud didn't respond. “I knew she was a danger but to know you _willingly kept her with us…”_

“Billie,” he snapped, keeping his voice low and even. “She's also an innocent child. What makes you think she'd be any better here, being _groomed_ into something she doesn't want be, or worse?”

“At least she'll be with her _real_ family,” Billie spat back. Something prickled in the back of his mind, snagging his arm like a branch.

“Billie,” he said, taking a step towards her. _“She's_ still in there, isn't she?”

Billie wavered, her eyes suddenly flickering and unsure. When Daud pushed his Bond into her mind she recoiled, hissing, fangs bared. The tears flowed against her will.

“I don't know Daud, I don't know anymore.”

The next second had him transforming with a snarl, grabbing her arm and slamming his mind into hers. She stiffened, paralyzed as Daud sifted through her thoughts, her memories, the process a dizzying blur for anyone not used to it. Smells, visions, _memories_ assaulted him as he pressed further in, hunting for the root of the weed that was planted in the depths of her paranoia. It didn't take long to find the blackened, gnarled root, toughened from age and nourished from Billie's doubts and jealousy.

 _“Billie,”_ he told her softly, _“You are still_ mine. _And I'm here to remind Delilah of that very fact.”_

Hard claws dug deep into wood and Daud relished in the pained _shudder_ the plant made under his assault. He pressed his mind through, slashing and gouging, digging through the root until finally he was in the mental network of the witches, jumping from each one in turn until finally--

_There she is._

Tall, thin, regal, covered in roses and thorns, Delilah groomed a slender vixen with one hand while she balanced a paint brush in the other. He pushed even further, directing all his anger at the fox on Delilah's right.

The fox shuddered as Daud assaulted her thoughts, straining and pulling on her connection to Delilah’s magic-- it was an incomplete override at best but it was _enough._ Delilah didn't know to react when the vixen started snapping needle fangs at her throat, the scream from the fox’s lungs unholy.

Delilah spoke a name _\-- Breanna_? -- before realization hit and her left hand lit up. Thorns ensnared Daud from inside Breanna’s mind, enough that he could feel Breanna crying, thanking her master for helping her. Delilah grabbed the fox’s face, peering into her eyes like she looking straight through them to Daud himself.

“Ah, Daud, the infamous _Knife of Dunwall,_ the wolf among men. This is a cute parlor trick, very impressive.”

Like a puppet, Breanna's jaws opened, speaking for someone else. Delilah's eyebrow twitched up as the words came out, slow and garbled and warped.

“Not so nice when your right hand is turned against you, is it?” The words snarled out in Breanna's voice, vacant eyes training on Delilah like a doll possessed. “I'm here to find Emily. You and your clan will be dead before I leave.”

“Is that another empty promise, Daud?” Delilah said, chuckling, her fingers curling into Breanna's fur. “Don't forget you're in my house now, and here, you play by my rules. And sadly, I think you've overstayed your welcome.”

With a forceful blast, Daud was ricocheted out of Breanna's mind, Delilah's magic _powerful_ where his was already strained. He whiplashed back into his body and out of Billie's mind, leaving him shaky and disoriented. Billie gasped for breath, her lupine body shuddering from the aftershock of Daud's actions. She licked at her nose, her eyes meeting his just briefly before traveling over his shoulder.

He followed her gaze, ears twitching at the sound of unholy growling. The skulls Daud had seen earlier had grown into snapping, shrieking gravehounds. Their bony heads and yellow eyes trained on them, wispy bodies looking both powerful and insubstantial. From the back of the house and through those shattered windows, the barking laughter of the witches echoed closer and closer.

 _“They know where we are,”_ he growled out, lip curling. _“So unless you want be left behind to die, I suggest you help me find Emily and get us out of here._ Now.”

 

_\------_

 

Emily was groggy when she woke up that morning, her head thick and strangely muffled. Stranger still was the smell of rotting wood, the wet earthiness of the room she was in, the cool dampness of the air. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, seeing the decaying wallpaper and single broken window and the memories of the previous night came crashing down on her.

Billie had taken her to an old abandoned mansion. She had been so happy to meet her aunt, to know she still had family! But then her thoughts caught up to the facts she'd learned about Daud--and _Corvo--_

Her throat choked on a cry and she wiped her eyes.

_No, no, no... Corvo!_

It wasn't fair! It _couldn't_ be true! Corvo couldn't be dead, not after everything…

_...Could he?_

She had no way to know for sure, just the evidence that, after months in isolation, he still, _still,_ hadn't come for her.

And now, there was the real possibility that he _never_ _would._

“Emily, darling,” a voice said softly, and she snapped out of her painful reverie. Delilah was in the doorframe, watching her with a careful, saddened gaze. Emily caught her eye only to look away, trying and failing to gracefully wipe her nose on the sleeve of her already damp clothing. Delilah caught the action; shaking her head, she strode over, a small smile playing on her lips as she ghosted a hand over Emily's shoulder.

Up close, Emily could see how the tired clung to the lines of her aunt's face, how her icy eyes held no warmth.

“Did you sleep well?”

Emily nodded. “Did you? You look tired.” Delilah scoffed and waved a dismissive hand.

“I didn't, but don't you worry about that -- it's a _secret.”_

Emily's eyes widened a fraction, her curiosity piqued.

“A secret?”

Delilah shrugged, rolling her eyes before flashing a grin.

“Well _someone_ told me that today is your _birthday._ I had no idea, of course, but I couldn't be empty-handed for such a big day.”

Emily jumped up, all grogginess leaving her. Her birthday! Yes! She had completely forgotten!

“Who told you? I mean-- you didn't _have_ to do anything, it's not that big a deal, I'm only _ten--”_

Delilah led Emily out of the room, carefully steering her through the dangerous house. “If you ask me, Emily, ten is a _very_ prestigious age to reach. You've been alive for a whole decade, now. Isn't that exciting?”

“Well, it could be _more exciting,_ but none of my friends are here, neither is my mom, or Daud, and Corvo is…is…”

She trailed off, her thoughts going dark. Delilah, sensing the danger, crouched down, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Don't think about that, there's nothing you could have done. It isn't your fault. Billie brought you here for a new beginning-- and I've got just the thing to make it all feel worth it.”

Emily managed a small smile, but it died when she heard a _shriek_ followed by a _smash_ from the end of the hallway. Emily looked, glimpsing movement before she was steered away and down the stairs.

“What was that?” She asked, concerned. Delilah pushed her along faster.

“Just some of the girls having a spat,” she said, huffing indignantly. “If the dispute can't be settled, maybe then will I concern myself with their problems.”

“Why don't you just stop them now?” Emily asked as she was ferried down another flight. Another vibration rocked their floor, making a loose painting clatter and fall to the floor. “What if they get hurt?”

“They are big girls, Emily. I like to give my subjects a feeling of freedom; they rule each other, keep one another in line. As long as they ultimately do what I want, I see no reason to hinder their progress.”

“Progress?” Emily queried as they entered a new corridor.

“Magic is a skill, Emily,” she said smoothly. “You can be born with the potential for it, but it must be worked, practiced, _honed,_ or it will be lost like anything else.”

They stopped outside of a closed door. There was no one else on the their floor except for the muffled sounds of the distant fight, echoing like an audience.

“Daud couldn't teach me magic,” Emily confessed. “Could you?”

Delilah looked down at her in shock, bringing her hands together with a clap.

“Well, look at you, you sussed out my secret, just at the moment of my reveal.” With a flourish, Delilah turned the knob on the door. The door swung open and Emily gaped.

The room inside didn't look like a room at all. It was filled with trees and plants and even had a skylight, feeling more like a section of forest than an interior space with four enclosed walls. On the far side, nestled between two thick, healthy tree trunks, an easel stood, its canvas facing away. It was all so fanciful, so _magical,_ like a scene cut perfectly from a fairy tale.

“Here in this pocket forest, I’m going to help fill your head with all the magical knowledge you'll _ever_ need.”

With a shining wave of her hand, Delilah summoned a witch to her. She materialized in a flurry of leaves and twigs; this witch was younger, but her hands were already vined and blackened by Delilah's influence. Her eyes darted from Emily back to Delilah.

“Madam, are you sure this is a good time?” She asked, voice quivering lightly. “I mean, it is an _honor_ but--”

“Breanna is currently indisposed,” she said sharply, “And I need a steady hand. Please, Serena, this will only take a moment.”

“Yes, but-- you must understand--”

 _“Only._ A moment.” Delilah told her, voice forceful and sickly sweet, pushing something into Serena's hands. Emily eyed it; it was a small glass vial, still uncorked.

“What do you need?” Emily asked. The young witch looked at her with wild eyes and a twitching smile before looking back to Delilah. Emily also turned to Delilah, curious.

“Magic consists of spells and charms, and adding your energy to an object to impart power onto it -- or _them.”_ Delilah said, motioning to her summoned witch. Emily looked to Serena as well and nodded, understanding. Delilah continued, “The more personal the crafted spell, the more powerful it becomes.”

“I understand,” Emily concluded, “but I already know I can't do any magic.”

There was another rumble. The young witch whimpered. Emily furrowed her eyebrows.

“Don't worry, your sisters are just having a disagreement,” Emily reassured to her. “It'll be over soon.”

Serena gaped at her, then looked to Delilah for an explanation. Delilah disregarded the young woman, instead taking Emily's hand gently in her own. Her palm was cool and rough, like the roots in the earth.

“But what if you _could_ do magic?” Delilah asked through a breathy smile. “That's my gift to you, for your birthday.”

Emily's eyes went wide, her jaw dropping.

_“Really?”_

Delilah nodded, and pulled out a small hunter's knife from her side pocket. Emily watched the blade carefully, her eyes catching the glint of the steel.

“Your magic runs in your blood,” Delilah explained, showing the knife to her. “So your blood is the key. If you give me your key, I can help unlock that door keeping you from your ability in a way that Daud _never_ could.”

Emily's eyes flicked again; knife to Delilah, knife to Delilah. The world slowed. Serena fidgeted with her glass vial.

“Delilah…”

“How much?” Emily asked sharply, cutting Serena's comment short.

“A little more than a drop should be enough.”

The ground shook. Emily couldn't tell if it was real or imagined anymore. The knife shined enticingly in the light.

“Okay then,” she said, holding out her hand. “Just a drop.”

Delilah beamed.

“That's my good girl.”

Delilah carefully brought the blade down on Emily’s upright palm. A dangerous thrill ran through her as cold metal kissed warm skin.

The wall to her left exploded. Emily shrieked, ducking as splinters and mold and moss blew across the room; Delilah yelled and Emily was pushed to the floor, her hand burning as dust and dirt bit into her cut. She gasped at the sudden pain of it, holding her palm up, going cold as she saw her blood flowing freely down through her fingers.

Red blood, _her blood,_ and it dripped to the floor, out of her, and she watched it, transfixed. Did she actually get cut? She hadn't even felt it…

A blast of wind. The shrill cry of the witch, now a fox. A shout of pain and another crash. Emily looked up and over her shoulder, her hand clutched to her chest, while her blood ran red rivers across her jacket.

Delilah was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a giant shadow fought that small fox who wasn't that small, it was just so dwarfed by the monster it now faced.

And it wasn't just _any_ monster.

Blazing blue eyes glared around the room. Heavy scars marred a gnarled black face. Bright fangs flashed like silver in the filtered sunlight.

The giant wolf roared and Emily's heart soared.

“Daud!”

Long ears perked, trained on her voice. His nose twitched, an near imperceptible movement. And then, the huge, enveloping presence of that powerful mind reached her.

_"Emily?"_

A barking screech brought them back to the present. Serena jumped, her own fangs bared for the attack. Emily yelled again, the tears welling in her eyes.

“Serena! Wait!”

The vixen turned to look at her, fumbling her approach. Daud blocked her jump with a single furred arm, pushing the witch forcefully back down to the floor before looking over to Emily again.

 _“Emily,”_ the gruff, relieved voice in her head said. She wasted no time crawling out and away from the debris Daud left in his wake. _“What did you-- are you alright?”_

“No!” She shrieked, and he jerked his head back at her violent display of rage. She stalked over, clenching her bleeding hand, nails digging into the burning cut, leaving her fist shaking and her blood dripping. “No, I am not! How dare you! _How dare you!”_

As soon as she was close enough she grabbed at his fur, pulling chunks out before punching his side, his arm, his leg, _anything._ Despite the ineffective assault he still recoiled, sitting back to watch her better.

The weight of the confusion suddenly filling her was staggering, but she didn't dare let up.

“I'm hurt and alone and Corvo is dead and you _killed my mother!_ No, I am _not_ okay!”

He stiffened, his mix of churning emotions dizzying to her mind. Smoke filled the room until suddenly a much smaller Daud stood before her, his coat as red as her blood in her hand.

“Corvo isn't dead, Emily,” his voice a barely controlled rumble. “Who told you this?”

“How do you know?” She cried, frantic, and Daud's brow furrowed, his throat tightening. “How does anyone know! He's supposed to be _here_ for me! He's supposed to find me, he _always finds me!"_

Daud pulled her close. Before she could protest, he put a strong hand on her head, and brought his forehead to hers.

_“Because I've seen, him, Emily.”_

It came in a flurry of visions, some Emily could barely comprehend before they were gone again. A giant, ragged wolf falling into a river warped into Corvo looking at long jagged scars along his arms which then warped into Corvo behind a mask, with long claws sprouting from blackened fingers, to Daud standing next to Corvo saying the words _find me, find Emily_ and then she was spinning back into reality, her tears falling, her hand and head aching as she gasped for breath. She looked up at Daud in renewed wonder, his eyes filled with a sad acceptance she'd never seen before.

“I'm sorry for everything, I truly am. But he wished so strongly for you to be safe. And I promised I would do just that.”

“And you never make a promise you can't keep,” she choked out, head aching with too many emotions: anger, happiness, fear, acceptance. _Relief._

She fell into him, hugging him close as she wept. His glove was a heavy warmth, one she never realized could be so calming before now.

A slow clap from behind them brought both their attentions back to the center of the room. Emily lifted her head to see Delilah standing there, all previous kindness gone, her earlier mirth replaced with malice. Daud's chest rumbled with his deep seated growl.

“Well, well, look at this happy, dysfunctional reunion,” she said throwing her hands out towards them. Daud's fist clenched and slowly, he guided Emily to behind him. “Did you have a fun time single-handedly destroying this house?”

“Not usually my style,” he shrugged back, “but I'm not worried about ruining a house that will soon be abandoned.”

In the back of her mind, Daud reached for her and she greedily reached back.

 _“Billie is coming for you,”_ he told her silently as Delilah monologued. _“We have a trap set and ready for Delilah, and now is your best chance to escape.”_

“But--” she whispered to him, but he just mentally shushed her, his glowing fist clenched. Out of the corner of her vision, Delilah inclined her head.

“What is he telling you, darling? More lies?”

“You're the one who lied!” Emily snarled back. “I know Corvo is alive! I don't need you, you aren't my real family!”

Delilah's face contorted with rage.

“Why, you insolent little _brat,_ you think your real family is your bastard father and the man who killed your mother for a sack of coin? And the mutts who follow him!” She took an infuriated step forward, the vines sprouting in time with her lifted hand. “I could've _opened your eyes,_ given you unimaginable _power,_ but this washed up assassin is who you crawl behind--”

The world greyed. Sound ceased. Delilah paused in mid step, her arm up, ready to throw her powerful attack.

Daud, however, stood there, still in red, his left hand burning, and when he turned Emily could see his scars were burning too, his body alight with his arcane magic. Then he was grabbing her, cradling her, leaping her up to the waiting red wolf two floors up.

 _“Emily,”_ Billie said, carefully brushing against her mind. _“It's time to go.”_

 _But,_ she tried to say, _What about Delilah? What about Daud?_ as the wind was stolen from her throat and time resumed, sound crashing down on her. It was all she could do to cling to Billie's fur as she traversed away and out of the house. There was a shriek of anger, an incredible flash of light, and then the whole house was collapsing on itself as Emily screamed, again and again and again.

 

\------

 

Rulfio leaned against the railing of the _Undine,_ watching Galia as she fidgeted, paced, and mumbled to herself across the bow of the boat. The day was hitting late afternoon but with how grey and heavy the clouds had been, one would hardly know just by looking around. The only way Rulfio knew was because his internal clock was meticulous, honed from too many years standing in too many shadowy places counting down the ticks to land too many clean, perfect kills.

As he stared at her through her fifth revolution, she finally spoke, more to herself than anyone else.

“He's late.”

This was empirically false. Rulfio’s clock knew Daud still had two more hours before he was technically late.

“Calm down,” he told her. “He has time, and the _Undine_ is still moored.” He shifted his weight to his other foot, looking out towards the direction of the mansion. “Besides, Lizzy is still busy doing whatever she does below deck. So unless you're volunteering to interrupt her--”

Galia shuddered. “Ugh, _no.”_

“-- we aren't going anywhere anytime soon.”

That seemed to satiate her enough to get her to stop pacing, which Rulfio took as a cue to settle back into his stance. However, after five minutes passed and she _hadn't moved_ , he sighed and pulled himself back out of his catnap.

“Stop talking to the twins about _it_ already.”

Galia jerked her head over, her emotions an open book despite the impassive whaler mask she wore. Her shoulders rolled and her head darted, looking around. “What else am I supposed to do? If Daud isn't here, he deserves to have all the facts for once he gets back.”

“He has bigger things to worry about, Galia, trust me.”

Galia scoffed, her irritation getting the better of her. “Like _what,_ exactly? What is more important than _this?”_

Rulfio sighed. He was too old for this. “Getting Emily home _alive,_ for starters.”

Galia couldn't refute that. Even so she stuttered, searching for words. Rulfio could just see her under that mask, her mouth opening and closing indignantly at his response.

And then, suddenly, they all felt it.

It was a simultaneous _jerk._ Each whaler looked over as Daud's pull rushed him to the boat, and the urge to meet him halfway was only quelled by the equally powerful command to _stay put._ All of them drew silent, watching, waiting, _hoping._

They didn't have to wait long. In a flurry of Void and ash, Daud returned, Emily clinging tiredly to his fur.

With practiced synchronization, all of the Whalers transversed to Daud in an instant, checking in with him mentally as he set Emily down. She was tired and only half-awake, her right hand bandaged tight but the incriminating blood stains still visible on the fabric. Galia was already there, wrapping her long furred body around the young Empress, licking her hair and giving the child something warm to cling to.

Rulfio shook his head at her, even as his emotions threatened to close his throat. Mothers _._ They never passed up a chance to dote on a child. But at least Emily was tended to. Now, it was time to focus on Daud.

“Sir,” Rulfio asked, “are you alright?” As Daud shook his shaggy head, Rulfio scanned the manor grounds. “Where is Billie?”

 _“Billie is gone,_ ” Daud ominously clarified. Rulfio frowned. _“And she won't be coming back._

 _“Is she-- did you--?_ ” Galia carefully asked, her words echoing through their collective consciousness.

 _“No, she's simply been banished,”_ Daud tiredly told them. He took a breath; as he let it out, his lupine form dissolved, leaving the disheveled man of Daud in its wake. He took a few measured steps, fixing his lapels and glancing down to Emily. “Billie’s strong. She'll find her own way. For now we need to get back to the Flooded District.”

“I agree sir, but -- _ah,”_ Rulfio started. Daud paused to meet his gaze, an eyebrow gently lifting. “There's something you need to know before we head back.”

Daud squinted suspiciously at them.

“Well what is it? Spit it out already.”

They all exchange glances. None of them spoke.

Until, finally:

“It's Corvo. He's waiting back in the Flooded District. For us. For _you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> We are nearing the end. Can you feel it?
> 
> So much love to everyone who has ever kudoed or commented or shared this fic so far. I know I have a terrible update schedule, but I'm glad to be able to get back to something semi-regular. I've reached 400 kudos and im just sorta... chuffed, really. I didn't even know that many people still CARED about Dishonored. I'm glad youre all here and enjoying the ride.
> 
> Just a few more chapters to go!


	13. With Starved Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We back-track a few hours to take a look at what Corvo's been up to all this time.

_“Find me. Find Emily.”_

Heavy feet hit wet stone, claws crashing into tile and cement high above the city. The beat of the Heart and his own breathing pounded in his ears, shaggy head shaking off rain just to have more fall down, rolling off his fur in waves. His chest heaved, hungering for air as his senses spread out, combing every potential scent and sound for what he searched so desperately for.

Find Daud. Find Emily.

Despite his earlier eagerness, Corvo Attano needed to concede to the truth that this task of finding the leader of the Whalers was easier said than done.

His lip curled back and he growled out his frustrations as once again his senses led him down another dead end. It had been hours now of relentless scouring and it was sapping away all of his remaining energy in the process. At least his fur kept the rain off his skin-- but for how long? He shook his head again, more to stave off exhaustion than to clear his head of water.

A pack of rats glared up at him from the deserted alleyway, beady eyes watching him in the dark. He eyed them for only a moment before his hungry jaws were moving of their own accord, snapping for a plump rodent body. The rats scattered against his assault: a second attempt hit home and a fat bull rat crunched in his jaws, the sensation fulfilling a deep-seated need, his huge body rumbling in satisfaction.

 _Void,_ he was hungry. Enough so that even giant rats tasted like a delicacy.

The first went down easy and he started after another before he caught himself, his muscles seizing as he fought for control. He wasn't here on the streets of Dunwall, getting soaked in the first rains of the season, just to have a literal gutter feast. He needed to find Emily. There _had_ to be a trail he could follow or-

Movement at his feet. His teeth flashed. Bone crunched and a tiny squeal was swallowed up into his jaws and down his throat once again.

The second rat tasted even better than the first did and his body _groaned_ in relief.

 _Maybe I've pushed myself too hard,_ Corvo thought to himself, a primal side of his mind taking over with every step towards the next rat down the alley. _I can't be of any use to Emily half-dead from exhaustion._

It was sound enough advice and a good enough excuse for him to coalesce into the shadows, chasing the next pack of a dozen brown-grey bodies.

 _Outsider's ass,_ he was _starving._

 _“Careful, Corvo,”_ The Heart whispered in his ear, all but unheard. _“The rats carry their own secrets.”_

He heard the warning without it registering, his body already working towards its stomach-filling goal. His ears strained against the loud chorus of rain hitting stone and gravel and iron and instead listened for the tiny _pitter-patter_ of feet on the ground, of the high-pitched shrieks of the rats as they traveled in their packs, looking for their own body to devour. The Void let his senses stretch, opening up the trails of the rats unseen by normal eyes, and he beelined to follow them down into the sewers and around multiple bends.

 _“There is much death down here,”_ the Heart whispered to him. _“Both man and hound, all are feasts for the rats in the river.”_

 _“Which will then be a feast for me,”_ Corvo growled back to it, brushing aside the disappointment he felt leaking through the connection he shared with the macabre device now lodged in his own chest. _“And who are you to judge? You don't need to eat.”_

 _“No judgement passes these lips,”_ the Heart responded back, _“only truth.”_

His nose curled back in annoyance; even if the Heart was _part_ of the late Empress, it and Jessamine were barely alike. This fact didn't stop the constant ache of his own heart, knowing the Empress's was beating so close to his own once again.

Small feet scrabbled out of water and against crumbling brick. Corvo's head shot up, listening intently. Somehow, inexplicably, the Heart began to pulse faster.

Was he close? Had he accidentally stumbled on a lead?

The rats held their own secrets, after all.

Slowly, he slunk through the shadows, his huge body smoking like a silent, oily mass through the sewer, following the sounds of the rat pack. His stomach protested but he ignored it, his focus intent on whatever was making the Heart go haywire. Another bend rounded, until finally, Corvo caught up with his quarry.

It was definitely a rat pack-- and from the disgusting, wet sounds they were making, they were eating a drowned corpse. Corvo sneered, ears going back as his body whispered through the sewer opening and into a larger boiler area. At the far end stood a figure near a large furnace; hunched, thin, and feeding the rats in the low light. A soft humm was the only other sound aside from the chewing of the rats and the _drip drip drip_ of the rainwater from above.

Corvo let out a breath -- his body demorphed on the exhale until he stood, human again, the Heart in his pocket as he pulled the mask out to cover his face. Now smaller, he hugged the wall, closing in on the figure the rats surrounded.

“Twenty-two, twenty-three, that's how many have come back to me,” the figure sang in a broken lilt, and as Corvo adjusted his lens he could see it was an elderly woman with a hunched back and greying, done-up hair. She wore the clothes of nobles, but from a bygone era and falling into deep disrepair. When she turned, he saw her eyes were glassed over, unseeing. His breath caught as she looked at him - _through him -_ regardless.

“Where are the other lovelies, I wonder? Did they get caught in a trap, or shot by those nasty watch officers?” She stooped down a gnarled and scarred right hand: a white-furred, red-eyed rat ran up, sniffing and nuzzling her ear.  “Infect them all, yes, just like my black-eyed groom said you would.”

Corvo jerked to a stop, breath catching. His body wished to flee but he stayed rooted to the spot. The Heart pounded out a panicked tune. Something wasn't right. This woman knew the Outsider, called him her _groom..._

He shouldn't be here. This wasn't the nest he was supposed to find.

“What's that my little one?” the old woman cooed as the rat sat on her shoulder, tickling her ear. “They were eaten? By those nasty overseer hounds? Or…”

She stopped. She turned. She took a deep breath in through her nose.

Corvo clenched his fist, gathering as much magic as he could muster.

“Did you bring a friend home, I won-” is all Corvo caught before time stopped, the color of the world draining as silence rushed in on him.

He heaved. His limbs shook as unexpected perspiration beaded under his mask. His hand wavered, his hold on the Void weaker with every passing, hanging second.

He was too tired, too drained -- _too hungry._ And stopping time was clearly beyond his limit.

Corvo took a step back and reality rushed back on him, sound and color and time hitting him at once as his body staggered. His foot barely hit the floor before he was bodily thrown, claws smashing into his mask with a head-rattling _screech._

His head throbbed painfully as the world twisted. His own claws grew, scrambling for purchase on the soft floor of the room, shaking himself from the shock of the blow. Instantly dozens of bites stung into him, claws scraping across any part of his exposed flesh. He yelled out, throwing an arm; it was covered in _rats,_ their beaded eyes bulging, teeth biting, ripping, _clenching--_

His claws dug into them and ripped two off his arm, just for another to replace them. They swarmed his back and his shoulders, biting at his mask, searching for weakness and openings. He fought with them all, growling, snarling, clawing, throwing-- _anything_ to gain the upper hand. But they just kept coming, covering him, weighing him down until finally his body _shuddered_ under the onslaught.

His form lurched, pulled, _grew._ The rats squealed in surprise as Corvo _roared,_ bursting from the swarm, sending rats flying as his jaws snapped them out of the air. Bones crunched and rats fled at the sound of it, terrified of joining their dying brethren in the belly of this new beast.

But feeding was the last thing on Corvo's mind now. He _seethed,_ anger coursing through his veins as adrenaline pushed his transformed body into action, leaping free of the rats and their plague-ridden bites. He turned towards the door, to the way _out,_ willing his legs to move, his body to turn to smoke.

The scream filling the air and the pungent odor of _another_ was the only warning he had before he was rammed and thrown to the ground. The wind left him just as claws dug deep into the flesh of his deltoid, twisting and wrenching. He _yowled,_ his right hand lashing out to grab the jaws of a greyed, ragged muzzle. Two glassy dead eyes glared through him, unseeing, mouth open and full of needled teeth as the other wolf _laughed_ at him.

 _“Oh! It’s YOU! My lovelies brought me a real treat today!”_ That wild, deranged mind slammed into his and he recoiled, the scent of her reminding him of tiny cells and an executioner beating him to an inch of his life. _“You, who destroyed my poor Sullivan's pretty face, I hoped so strongly for you to be led here, so I could properly_ punish _you._

The old woman made for a thin, ragged, wolf-- body spindled and bony and greying out -- but her power was _enormous._ Corvo gaped under it, his own weakened form struggling against the combined weight of her mental and physical energy. He pushed her head back as she shrieked with laughter again, his own snarls completely drowned out. He ripped into the skin of her arm with his left hand, claws raking deep into the thin flesh and she screeched like a dying whale, finally pulling her claws from the joint of his shoulder. He panted, pushing her off of him, wasting no time before lunging on her, hoping to pin her down. He ignored the blood flowing hot down his arm as his jaws found an elbow and _crunched._

The old hag screamed, clenching her fist. It glowed bright and Corvo gaped -- _she had a mark too._ He was stupefied by this fact for a second too long. Suddenly the sound of _hundreds_ of pattering feet reached his ears, all getting louder, rushing their location. He looked, eyes widening and lip curling as a _wave_ of rats appeared from all openings, all coming to the call of the witch-wolf, all under her command. He turned to swipe at the old wolf but she was gone, laughing from a corner of the huge room, humming out her awful tune even while in her hulking, spidery, form.

_“Can the lost little pup find his way, or will his bones rest here, to rot and decay?”_

Corvo's mind raced as his body panicked, the old wolf’s laughter shaking around his skull as he leapt away and crawled upwards, over a huge processing tank. Steam sprouted as rats poured from holes in the piping, their wet fur matted and their teeth flashing as they honed in on him, screeching and squealing. All the while the old croon hummed her song, perched like a horrible, laughing gargoyle. Corvo snarled and smoked to another vantage point, the siege of rats crashing behind him.

He _had_ to get to her and stop the song. Otherwise, the room would be drowned in the weight of rats and rainwater.

His blood trailed. The rodents greedily devoured each drop, thirsty for more as they snapped as his feet, his fur, his claws. Corvo bit at them in turn, throwing their mangled bodies to the floor, watching as their brethren swallowed them, still screaming. The distractions were small, _too_ small to do much in stopping the onslaught because still they came, while the wolf hummed and howled and sang.

Still the rats lept and snapped and left more and more wounds, taking flesh bit by tiny bit. It was annoying. It was tiring and frustrating and soon his arm was burning from the constant movement, adrenaline and the fear of being _eaten_ _alive_ being the only things keeping him going, until--

He latched onto the old wolf, reaching for her just as the rats reached for his tail, his ankles, digging in their teeth just as he dug claws into her leg, dragging her down.

 _“If I go down,_ ” he snarled, triumphant, _“you go down with me.”_

 _“Never!”_ She screeched, long claws slashing from a gnarled, scarred hand, lashing against his grip again and again. He snarled and whined, the burning at his ankles mixing with the burning at his arms but he couldn't let go, he _refused--_

A flash of gold _slammed_ into the witch, throwing her off her perch and out of Corvo's grasp. The song cut off -- without direction, the rats faltered, confused, swarming in circles and over the bodies of their fallen. Corvo gasped at the sudden loss of the witch-wolf from his mind, the pressure lifting like a curse. He pulled himself from the receding rats, panting, looking for the old wolf and whatever had attacked her.

A screech, a growl, a fight between white and gold as the witch tangled with a new wolf, fangs flashing and eyes glowing. Like a phantom it blinked in and out, striking hard and fast, before throwing her bodily into pressurized piping.

It was all too fast for his tired eyes to watch. His shoulder burned and he wobbled on his injuries, only his residual adrenaline keeping him upright. He panted, the magic of his lupine form misting away; the injuries persisted into his human state and he clutched his shoulder, hissing in pain.

A familiar mind brushed his and he staggered against it as the golden wolf appeared at his side. It's face was sharp and intent, its hazel eyes boring into Corvo's glassy, masked ones.

 _“Lord Attano,”_ it spoke to him, and Corvo was reminded of that mind from behind the wall, the one he chased across rooftops just yesterday, though it felt like ages ago. _“I apologize for the delay. You were hard to find once Granny Rags got ahold of you.”_

“Granny--” Corvo rasped out, his broken voice even more strained from his wounds. The wolf tossed his head and looked down; there the old witch battled with the same golden-furred wolf, near identical to the one standing next to him. “How--”

 _“My brother, Thomas,”_ the wolf clarified. _“We won't be able to fend her off for long, and she_ really _wants to kill you. Can you travel on your own?”_

Corvo's mind reeled with questions, but the pain of his left deltoid made moving his whole arm a taxing chore. He clenched his fist, calling the Void, and nodded. “Enough to get out of here, at least.”

The wolf nodded once before blinking away. Corvo looked around, disoriented for a moment before spotting him on the above piping, leading out of the sewer. His fist clenched; with a whisper of Void he was following, up, _up,_ leaving the angry screeching howls of Granny Rags behind. His entire arm was on fire but he didn't stop, not until they were finally out, the angry rain from the downpour hitting his face and filling his ears. The cold was a shock after the stifling humidity of the sewers below, and Corvo heaved, his whole head swimming. It was only then that he noticed the flooded area he had exited in, the dilapidated buildings reaching for the inky-brown sky, and the large brown wolf waiting for him.

His arms shook. His vision blurred. And he collapsed against the weight of the questions filling his head.

\------

_“Is he okay?”_

_“Did he wake up yet?”_

_“What will Daud say?”_

_“What about Emily?”_

_“Emily…”_

Whispers -- of the Void, of whales, of voices -- drove him to waking. Consciousness came slowly, but as soon as it did, Corvo was jerking upright, chest seizing in panic as burning _pain_ lanced up and down his left side.

“Lord Attano,” a muffled voice said in a hushed, nervous whisper. “Please, calm yourself or your stitches will stretch.”

Corvo breathed. He turned a wild eye on the man speaking to him only to find a whaler mask and jacket peering back at him, sitting at his bedside. The man's hand was outstretched, as if to catch Corvo should he falter, but he twitched back upon seeing the look on the Royal Protector's face. Corvo's lip rolled back, already feeling his teeth going heavy with fangs. The Whaler coughed, _hrmmed,_ and leaned away.

“Apologies for startling you, but I really cannot afford to have you more damaged than you already are.” He shifted, before bowing his head slightly. “Perhaps this will make more sense if I try a different way--”

Corvo felt a tentative mind brush against his and he stiffened in response to the contact. His instinct was to _recoil_ but this mind was _familiar--_ he _knew_ this individual.

Corvo squinted. “It's you.”

The Whaler sagged in relief; he was surprisingly expressive for a person who kept his face hidden behind a mask. “Yes, it's _me._ Or should I say, I'm the one you came in contact with in the Distillery District, and who pulled you from Granny Rags.” He extended a gloved hand. “My name is Connor. It is a, ah _, pleasure_ to make your formal acquaintance.”

More whispers tickled at the back of his skull like a persistent itch, coming and going like flies flitting in and out his vision. He looked down at the Whaler’s-- at _Connor's_ outstretched hand and then looked to his left arm, stuck in the sling as it was. Connor picked up on the cue; he switched hands and Corvo shook it tentatively.

“Connor,” he rasped out. “I don't know if I want to thank you, or kill you.”

To his surprise, Connor chuckled, and a measurement of warm amusement trickled over their tendril of a connection.

“You'd be surprised at how many people meet me and say that _exact_ line.”

Despite himself, Corvo's lip twitched. He looked down to his arm; most of his chest was done up, wrapped tight, the wound under the bandages still very tender. Connor twitched, catching his attention.

“Ah, Lord Attano, I'd leave that be if I were you,” Connor explained. “Misha did his best, but that old hag ripped right at the place where your shoulder meets your chest. You're going to need some time to recover from that.”

Corvo squinted, not understanding. “I recovered from gunshots and dog bites and torture wounds just fine,” he growled out, his voice scratchy and pained. “Why is this any different?”

“Well you were wounded by another marked whale-wolf,” Connor explained as if it was the most obvious thing. “Her magic is in the wound. It will take longer to heal, even for a Marked individual like yourself.”

“I see.” Corvo swung his legs over the bed he was laying on, righting himself and ignoring the protests his whole left side gave him. The room he was in was cluttered and not the cleanest-- he saw tables on one end where another Whaler dallied in their work and elixirs and assassin's blades alike sat waiting. The shirt and pants he wore were new, as well as dry. He frowned at Connor.

“Where are my belongings?” He growled out. “As much as I appreciate your hospitality, I cannot stay here.” He moved to get up.

Connor stood just as fast, blocking his path. Even while in a pained hunch, Corvo noted he was taller than the Whaler. His eyebrows shot up -- just _how old_ was this assassin?

“I’m well aware of your mission, Lord Attano, but I'm afraid you cannot leave just yet --”

“If you know my mission but keep me here against my will, then you will understand why I cannot guarantee your survival should I attempt-- _and succeed_ \-- in an escape,” he snarled, body bristling. The other Whaler stiffened, suddenly attuned to the conversation. Connor stilled as well, as if struck by an unseen force.

“We _can't_ let you leave yet,” he gasped out, as if the mere action of going against Corvo's wishes was having an effect on him. “Because our Master is on his way back, and he has Emily with him.”

Corvo stopped breathing. His brain stuttered. The buzzing of so many unwanted voices rattled in his head until it was impossible to concentrate. Through the haze Connor's soft reassurance tugged him back to reality, buoying him like a lifeline. When he next focused in the Whaler, he saw the mask tugged off and in its place was the young face, dirty blonde hair, and hard hazel eyes of _Connor_ looking back at him.

“Emily? She's here?”

Connor nodded, his sweat-sheened face unwavering in its conviction.

“She will be soon.”

“And your master?” Corvo choked out. “He's--?”

Connor swallowed.

“Yes, he's _Daud,_ sir.” Then, he fidgeted. “Come on. You probably have a _lot_ of questions that will need tending to.”

\------

“The Rudshore District wasn't always our base operations. We only moved in a few years ago, before the plague began and after the gangs had cleared most of the leftover belongings. Once the area was well and truly abandoned, it was perfect for our interests.”

Corvo followed Connor carefully down from the infirmary, his whole side flaring with every misstep. He grimaced through it and Connor was patient enough, doubling back and filling the air with chatter as Corvo followed.

“I guess it makes sense that the assassins weren’t always here,” Corvo mused as Connor helped him transverse a particularly flooded building. Corvo huffed in annoyance once they reached the other side. Blinking through space on his own was one thing; transversing space as someone else's luggage was another nauseating sensation altogether. “This would be a lot easier if I could just use my mark to do this myself,” he rumbled out.

“Comes with an attack from Granny; her magic doesn't mesh well with ours. It will be worse for you because your whole arm was near incapacitated. Give it a few days and you'll be able to call for the Void properly.”

“How do you know this?”

“Experience,” was the simple response. Corvo nodded, hating the weariness of his limbs and his own ineffectiveness. It made sense that the greatest threat to an Outsider's monster would be another, _different_ Outsider monster, but another question remained.

“Granny Rags has different magic? Doesn't it come from the Void through the mark, in exactly the same way?”

Connor stiffened, looking uncertain. “I'm not really sure how it works, but I guess it would be like Daud's bond; not all of us get the same powers despite the same origin. The Mark affects different people in different ways. Even your powers are different to Daud's, though very similar.”

Corvo chewed that over silently, flexing the fingers of his left hand from where they sat in their bandaged sling. The pain inflicted from the witch lingered, and the Void fled from his hand as a response.

“So where are we going now?” He queried, after some time spent navigating the buildings and large open spaces. Now that it was midday, the rains had ceased, making travel marginally easier.

“To the Commerce building,” Connor said, waving his hand toward the looming structure. “My brother is there waiting on us, and it's likely where Daud will be once he gets back. His office is on the third floor.”

“And Daud will have Emily with him?” Corvo growled out.

“Yes, I am certain he would not return to Rudshore without her.”

“Why did he care so much to kidnap her in the first place?”

Connor looked back shiftily, unease coloring his young features.

“I wouldn't necessarily call it a _kidnapping._ Thomas and I got express consent from Emily first and we exposed our true nature to gain her trust. If anything, we saved her from a cruel fate, at great potential cost to our own well-being.”

 _“You_ picked her up?”

Connor blinked. “Yes, Thomas and I were asked specifically to go and collect her and bring her unharmed to Daud.”

“So do you know what Burrows originally planned for Emily?”

Connor shook his head, carefully ducking under a passageway. “It’s unclear, but Daud knew enough to be spurred into action and sent us to pull her out of the Tower.” Corvo followed after him, hissing as his arm flared, prompting Connor to send him a mental apology. Corvo shoved it away and Connor stilled, acquiesced.

“Sorry,” he muttered out when Corvo straightened up. “It's…you'll come to understand it's involuntary.”

“Will I?” Corvo said, more defensive in his comeback than he planned to be. Connor sighed nonetheless.

“That _is_ the eventual hope, Lord Attano. Otherwise, well…” he shrugged. “Come on. Thomas is this way.”

They traveled the rest of the way in silence, or whatever _silence_ was in a place like the Whaler base. The buzz remained at the back of his skull, coming and going like catching snippets of conversation while moving through a crowd. More than once Corvo peered over his shoulder, suspiciously eying one of the lingering Whalers before Connor was tugging him along again. They eventually reached the Chamber of Commerce; a huge building left to rot, with Jessamine's likeness standing sentinel out front. The Heart lurched painfully in his pocket; unseen by the Whalers, it hadn't been removed from his person like the rest of his belongings. It was oddly sobered; when Corvo silently inquired, it responded simply:

_“Daud's men. They are shrouded from my sight, their secrets too numerous to speak aloud.”_

As they entered the building proper, a single Whaler stood in a training ring, pacing lightly, looking the perfect picture of constrained agitation. Connor made a motion for Corvo stay put before hailing his companion. The Whaler immediately turned to him, striding over stiffly.

“Connor, how is he? And why aren't you wearing your mask, you can't just walk around withou-” the other Whaler stopped dead, the glassy eyes of his mask finding Corvo. The Lord Protector frowned, shifting uneasily before crossing the threshold.

“Lord Attano,” Connor started. “Allow me to introduce you to my twin, Thomas. He can answer any questions you might still have, to the best of his ability.” Thomas bowed, extending a hand to shake, which Corvo obliged.

“You both saved me from that witch, correct?” His voice rasped out, and Thomas was quick to answer with a nod. Corvo's eyes narrowed on both of them.

_“Why?”_

Thomas tilted his head. He studied Corvo for a moment, his expressionless mask unmoving. Corvo frowned, unsure why this was a difficult question, until finally--

“You're in the hidden base of the Whalers, Daud's assassin group, the extended arm of the Knife of Dunwall. We are all trained killers, Lord Attano--” Corvo visibly bristled and Thomas quickly changed tune _“--but_ you're our _guest_ here; the end goal was _always_ to try and get you into the Flooded District intact. We saved you because we needed you to trust that even among killers, you have nothing to fear. At Daud's behest, you are safe.”

Corvo gaped at him. Connor sighed, his chest heaving.

“You could have _led_ with that, you know,” he muttered to his brother, his own face sneering. Thomas stiffened, mulling that over.

“Ah, yes, I see how that came off as threatening. I simply meant to assure the factual gravity that no one _will_ kill you, not even Daud. Our mission is simply to return Emily safely to you. We've kept her safe until you arrived, as promised.”

Corvo blinked at him, suddenly feeling the ache in his shoulder even more than he when he woke up.

“‘As promised?’ By who? Are you doing this all because _Emily_ asked you to?”

Thomas tilted his head.

“Well no. Mostly, it's because _you_ _demanded_ Daud to.”

Corvo _stared_ at them.

 _“What?”_ Corvo growled out, uncomprehending. “I never _demanded_ Daud to do anything of the sort, I should want the man dead, not be looking to him for babysitting favors!”

Thomas studied Corvo curiously. “And yet, you gave him valuable information on Emily's location less than 24 hours ago. This allowed Daud to rush out in time to save her from an untimely end at the hands of a power-hungry and manipulative witch.”

Corvo gaped, his face flushing from anger and embarrassment. The Whalers had been privy to that conversation, he realized. It wasn't a secret; perhaps nothing between Daud and his men ever was.

But him? _Corvo?_ Demanding _Daud_ to keep a promise regarding _Emily’s safety?_

“But that was just a day ago,” Corvo rasped out, voice breaking as he didn't deny the truth of Thomas's statement. “I never spoke to Daud to tell him to do anything with Emily, not while in Coldridge--”

The look Connor and Thomas exchanged stopped his explanation short.

“About a week after the Empress's assassination we were asked, without explanation, to pick up Emily Kaldwin,” Thomas told him. “At the time, Daud’s request sounded crazy; fool-hearted. Now, however, we know that he _turned_ you, however accidental that was, and since that moment his and your minds have been linking together. This means any stray thoughts or strong emotion you felt, Daud may have felt as well.”

Corvo's head unpleasantly buzzed. He swallowed thickly, the Heart pounding out a stuttered rhythm in his pocket. He remembered those moments of phantom emotion, like he wasn't _alone_ \-- perhaps because, for a long time now, he _hadn't_ been.

Connor and Thomas both shifted, watching him warily.

“Was there anything you were thinking about strongly, during those early days in Coldridge?”

Corvo breathed. They knew. They knew because they couldn't _not_ know, with their thoughts linked to Daud. They were just waiting for Corvo to confirm it.

“Emily,” he choked out finally, his ruined throat catching on every word. “I was _only_ thinking about getting back to _Emily.”_

Thomas nodded, clean and sharp.

_“Exactly.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I battled for a long time in adding the Granny Rags fight, eventually conceding that yes, it was necessary for her to make an appearance. I wanted as many different varieties of the marked werewolf as I could get, and since Sullivan appeared wolfish at the beginning, it was only right to bring her around to explain why he is so. Yes, he's bonded to Granny Rags, her _only_ bonded wolf. She's a good example of what happens if a wuffie doesn't spend the time building a foundation and reaching out to others. They slowly (or quickly) go mad. Like ya do. 
> 
> I have a final chapter count! Three more main chapters and then an epilogue. :D I'm so excited, i've never finished a long fic before ahhhh. There will be plenty of wuffie stories after this one though, so this is not the end, not by a long shot. :')


	14. With an Uneasy Truce

Emily was there waiting for Daud when he returned from below decks, Lizzy Stride behind him. Lizzy scowled down at the girl, lip curling just enough to show pointed teeth, but Daud remained unperturbed by Emily's presence just outside the cabin door, as if he expected her.

“You talked with Daud at length,” Emily said, feigning professionalism. “May I borrow him for the duration of the trip?”

Daud's lip twitched as his eyebrow raised at Lizzy, waiting for the pirate’s response. Lizzy just sniffed, tattooed arms folding against her chest.

“Don’t be so disgustingly formal with me, kid. And sure; we're almost there anyway.” She rolled her eyes and waved Daud off. _“Nobles.”_

“Your teeth are fake imitations of the real thing,” Emily told her darkly, reveling in the way the captain sneered again and turned back to her cabin.

 _“Double pay,_ Daud,” she growled as the assassin steered Emily away, smirking all the while.

“Diplomacy is something you will need to learn soon, Emily,” he softly purred to her. Once they were out of earshot, her classic frown formed as she looked up at Daud, her gaze all but accusing.

“I don't like her.”

“She is being kind enough to offer us safe passage through flooded waters.”

“Only because you _paid her to.”_

“You will learn you don't have to like the people you exchange coin with, but it helps to be cordial with them, at the very least.”

“Were you cordial with the person who gave you coin to _kill my mother?”_

Daud stiffened from head to toe. Emily bit at her lip, her real anger bubbling up, threatening to leak from her eyes and down her cheeks. She looked away from Daud's face, instead watching the rushing waters swirl about the _Undine._ When Daud put a hand on her shoulder, she didn't flinch away.

“No. I hate him more than anyone else in the Isles, Emily,” he snarled out. “And when I see him again, I won't need coin to motivate me to rip his jaw from his throat.”

Her chest heaved. “Then _why?_ Why did you do it?”

“Why anyone else does terrible things: because of a lie.”

Daud deflated next to her. He motioned her over to a seat on the main deck; she followed and sat down next to him. Emily watched him with a careful eye, catching the tension of his shoulders, the pull of his neck muscles, the turning of his gloved hands.

“Hiram Burrows was your mother's spymaster, and he was good at his job. _Too good._ Your mother trusted him when she shouldn't have and I can't blame her, because I did too.” He licked his lips before meeting Emily gaze for gaze.

“I’d worked with Burrows before and while I never liked the smell of the man, his targets _always_ had it coming. Perhaps they were rapists, or pedophiles, or enemies of the state. No matter the case, there was always extra motivation for me, one outside of coin. So when Burrows’ spy came and found me while he was scouring the Isles, proposing the Empress's death would save the city… I bought it. I _believed_ it.

“But as soon as my claws killed Jessamine and injured Corvo, my problems only doubled and it was too late to realize the bad business transaction. Burrows was back in town, demanding explanations on my improvisation, wanting to know if I could do more -- _eliminate more_ \-- for coin. He never asked me to kill you, but… it was enough to get suspicious and when I get suspicious, I dig around. I'm an assassin, but information is just as much my business as killing. What I found wasn't good, and I regret every bit of buying into his schemes and agreeing to be his tool. While I wish I could've given back the coin of your mother's death, most of it went into keeping you safe. Better it have a good use than be tossed to the bottom of the Wrenhaven.”

Emily squirmed, shoving her hands under her thin legs. Her eyes darted, looking around for a distraction before finding Daud again. “So, what did you find?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“A conspiracy against the crown. One that would have led to your disposal and the Isles falling into the power of men who were just _that_ _scared_ of being ruled by a woman.”

“Why haven't you killed _him,_ then?” Emily asked, angry for a reason she couldn't quite place. “Couldn't you have just done your _assassin thing_ on Burrows, too?”

Daud's lip twitched, his face darkening with a feral energy.

“Because killing takes _time,”_ Daud rumbled to her. “And to make it worth the while, to make a death _mean something,_ means doing it _right.”_ He folded his hands and took a breath. “In the meantime, keeping you safe has been my main priority. I promised to get you back to Corvo, safely.”

Emily mulled this over, tired thoughts pulling at her mind. She sighed dramatically, looking Daud up and down, as if trying to decide her feelings on everything.

“So. You _are_ planning to kill the Lord Regent, then?”

Daud _laughed._ His shoulders shook with it; it wasn't loud, and it wasn't full of mirth, but it _was_ genuine, which Emily took note of. When he met her eye again, his smile was still there, his fangs heavy in the set of his jaw, his claws sprouting from his interlaced gloved fingers.

“Yes, Emily. I've been planning his demise for _months.”_

“Can I help?”

Daud blinked, his smile dying as he adjusted in his spot. Emily's face didn't waver; she remained stony, serious, unmoving until Daud gave her a proper answer.

“I can't decide that, Emily.”

“Who can, then? If not you?”

“Corvo will,” he said, nodding over Emily's shoulder. She turned; behind them the crumbling buildings and waterlogged streets of the Rudshore District loomed, growing larger with every passing second. Her eyes widened at the sight, as if she looked hard enough she'd see him standing there, ready to finally take her home.

“When we get back he'll be waiting for us, and what he decides to do with me will determine how we _all_ move forward.”

\------

“So there _will_ be a bit of procedure we'll try to follow when they arrive, and I advise on conversing to Daud before, _ah,_ trying to kill him.”

Corvo only half-listened to Thomas as he talked coolly in Corvo's ears, the words meaningless as he watched the small boat returning from the shadow of the _Undine,_ a pirate trawler moored out on the Wrenhaven proper. His jaw tightened knowing that Emily had been on a _gang ship_ of all things, but he'd pushed those feelings aside as soon as the skiff had gone out to fetch the returning party. After that he waited, unmoving, until the boat returned to port down the way from the Commerce building.

It was getting to be evening. The wind was picking up; Corvo pulled his reacquired Protector coat close, to the best of his one-armed ability. He hadn't expected to meet Daud handicapped-- but then again, nothing he had envisioned about this moment was close to correct, especially not the fact that Daud would be bringing him _Emily,_ at his own _behest,_ even…

“Corvo? Sir? Are you listening?”

Corvo turned and grunted, moving away from Thomas, shoving the questioning mind out of his own. He couldn't let himself trust _any_ of them, not until Emily was with him again, not until she was back on the throne, not until he knew _exactly_ what to do with the man who had killed-

A flurry of color flitted in Corvo's peripheral. His head shot over, seeing red disappear just to reappear again. Thomas moved from his position behind him; he dissolved into ash, transversing forward to intercept Daud first. A flash of light and Void and then Daud was suddenly _there,_ standing just outside of his office, his silhouette partially visible to Corvo. The glint of the assassin's eye caught in the dying sun and suddenly Corvo's body _seized,_ begging to spring into action to confront the man who had single-handedly destroyed his life--

But he was stopped short of action. Something small had disengaged from Daud and was _running_ straight at him, wrapped in leather and smelling of lilacs and hitting him in the midriff like a sledgehammer.

_“Corvo!”_

Small hands grabbed at his coat and his breath was knocked from him-- not from force of impact but from the inability to _breathe,_ to even grasp the fact that this was _real._ His free hand wrapped around the thin body hidden under all those layers, pulling them close, his knee hitting wood so that arms could wrap more easily around his neck, causing his side to flare painfully but he didn't care, he _didn't care_ because she was finally _here._

“Emily. _It’s really you.”_

The words were a whisper, like a prayer on the wind. He winced, hissing painfully as she was pulled away, fixing her hair behind her ears, rattling off question after question, _are you alright, what happened to your arm, you look so tired, Corvo I have so much to tell you I thought you were DEAD--_

He smiled at her, his chest rumbling with _relief_ as she poked and prodded and rabbled, pulling at his too-long hair, noting his too-thin frame, and his only response to all her inquiries was to pull her in again, kissing at her forehead as she clung to him, never missing a beat in her scattered speech.

“I missed you too, Emily,” he managed to mumble and she choked out a laugh, nuzzling into his neck, a bandaged hand petting at his damp hair. He breathed deep, sighing out, and wished for all of eternity he never had to leave her side again.

A throat cleared.

Corvo bristled, claws gripping protectively at Emily's coat, but it was _Emily_ who was the one pulling away, looking over her shoulder, grinning all the while.

“Thomas! Thomas, _look!_ Corvo is here!”

Thomas let out a small laugh, nodding curtly.

“He certainly is, Emily. But, if I may interject…”

They both looked over. From where he waited near his desk, Daud loomed, watching the two of them from a distance. On reflex Corvo defensively stiffened-- but then a small, cool hand landed his cheek. He pulled his eyes to Emily as she leaned over to carefully whisper in his ear.

“He’s okay. He just wants to talk to you.”

Corvo turned into her, stricken with indecision.

“You're sure?”

She nodded into his ear… before shrugging against his shoulder and shaking her head, hugging him tight. Corvo sighed, defeated, and finally straightened back up, Emily's hand slipping into his own. He turned a glowering stare on Thomas, who shifted under his gaze.

“You keep her where I can see her,” he snarled. “If you even _think_ about killing her behind my back-”

“My Whalers value their lives and the life of young Emily too much to do something so _ludicrously stupid,_ Attano.”

Corvo _snarled,_ a palpable thing that rippled through everyone in the room. At his side, Emily squeezed his hand before letting go and trotting over to stand near Thomas. Thomas looked nervously between the two of them; Emily caught Corvo's eye and nodded.

“I promise, Corvo. I'll be okay.”

Corvo swallowed his pride. He nodded to Thomas who nodded back, understanding. Emily never took her eyes off him as he strode over to the desk at the other side of the room.

Daud wasn't even looking at Corvo as he approached; instead, the man was clearing papers, organizing files, his eyes sharp on every note. And yet with every step, Corvo felt more and more like he was being _suffocated._ He saw the _man_ of Daud, but he also sensed the shadow of _what he was,_ of what they both were, beings too large for the skin that contained them. He stopped in front of the desk. Daud paused in his sorting.

Corvo swallowed. His good hand flexed nervously.

“Th-”

“You're hurt,” Daud growled out. Corvo's mouth snapped shut and he huffed, self-conscious. “What happened?”

“Nothing of concern,” Corvo shot back, defensive. Daud snorted out a laugh.

“You can't use your left arm. Can you even use your magic?”

Corvo shifted. Daud sighed and went back to his documents.

“I'll take that as a _no._ So, what was it? Did you run into Vera Moray on your way here?”

“I ran into an old wolf, yes. Granny Rags?” Daud made a noncommittal sound, and Corvo continued, “If it makes you feel _smug,_ your Whalers were the ones to pull me out of her nest.”

Daud looked up, meeting Corvo's eye for just a moment. Corvo's insides chilled and he swallowed, feeling the creep of the beast _just under the surface,_ before Daud was looking away again, the force of his gaze leaving Corvo to stare off elsewhere. Corvo tried his best to resume breathing unseen, tried not to show how effected he was by a simple _gaze…_

They were both silent for a time. Corvo swallowed, fidgeted, before Daud was back in the present, straightening up and giving Corvo his attention. Corvo twitched at the sudden movement, matching Daud's behavior.

“According to Thomas, it was a close shave,” Daud said before he walked around the desk, closing in on Corvo. Corvo stiffened and Daud frowned at him, casting a critical eye on his bandages. The fraction of a height advantage didn't bring Corvo any solace under the overwhelming power of that stare.

“Your injury isn't going to heal easily. You were lucky it happened while you were a wolf-- she would have ripped your arm right off if you had tried to face her as a human.” His eyes flicked across Corvo's sling. Corvo resisted the urge to flinch back.

“This certainly complicates things,” Daud murmured, seeming to resist his _own_ urge to reach out and inspect Corvo's arm further. Instead he let his hand rest on his chin, thinking. “Do you have a plan, moving forward?”

Corvo's static-filled mind finally caught up with itself. He glared at Daud, shaking his head.

“A _plan?”_ He choked out. He could feel a dam being broken in his chest and everything poured out through it. “A fucking _plan?_ I was attacked, wrongfully imprisoned, was tortured for two months, turned into a monster to escape, and I have spent the last week talking to a black-eyed god and dealing with _this-”_ he gestured wildly to his whole body “- and you're asking if I have a Void-damned _plan?”_ Corvo could feel his teeth growing heavy and he snarled, pinching the bridge of his nose to try and keep himself under control.

“The only thing I planned on was wringing the life out of the person who killed Jessamine and I can't even do that because…” he choked on his words, glancing over his shoulder, where Emily watched him between conversation with Thomas. “...because that person brought me _Emily,_ and I have no clue what to _do_ anymore.”

He hated sounding so defeated. He clenched his jaw, his mind in turmoil as emotions fought for control inside him. Emily was safe, she was _here,_ but why and how, he still didn't understand.

It didn't feel like a victory yet.

“Corvo.” Daud called to him and he turned, hating how quickly he reacted to Daud's voice. The assassin sighed and the weight of _everything_ was suddenly shared between them, unsaid. As soon as their gazes caught Daud let it go, glancing off before coming back. His left hand clenched and he took a step toward the broken Protector. “I can show you what happened. If it will help you… make a decision.”

Corvo stared at him, never looking away even as his brow furrowed. Daud swallowed, his left hand going clawed as it burned with magic. He held it out, inviting.

Corvo looked at the hand, his thoughts immediately visualizing those deadly fingers dripping with blood -- rivers running down his arms, the Empress dead where she landed --

But Emily was still alive. All because of those gnarled, dark claws keeping her safe.

Corvo set his jaw, lifted his right hand, and grasped at Daud's wrist.

It took a tentative second before Daud's mind reached out to his but as soon as that door was opened, the wave that crashed into Corvo caused him to _stagger._ Thoughts, memories, emotions, decisions -- it all assaulted him and he felt his body tighten under the onslaught. Daud gripped at him, keeping him grounded, even as colors flooded his mind’s eye, threatening to sweep him away. The apology from Daud was felt more than said, and then finally everything started to align and the memories replayed back to him. He saw Daud telling the twins to retrieve Emily, Emily returning safely to the Flooded District, the disposal of the Pendleton Twins and the news of Corvo's escape, of Delilah being defeated after she took Emily, sealing her and her magic and then he was back to now, where Daud was watching him hug Emily, a strange warmth filling his chest and realizing it was _Daud's_ emotion, not his own, that he was experiencing.

The emotion was heady, an overwhelming _relief_ \-- but then the memory was warping, changing, like time itself was being reversed until --

_Hiram Burrows was below him, pacing a room frantically from where he watched and stalked in the shadow of a chandelier. He knew the room well; it was right above the Spymaster chambers in the main hall where the Tower’s court was held, but now the room had morphed, the energy frantic as maids and servants scattered about, the guards were doubled, and the newly erected arc pylons kept the threat of attack at bay._

_He watched Hiram carefully, his hatred seething, close to boiling over, but he willed his hand to stay. He couldn't afford to sink his jaws into that vulnerable neck, not yet. There was a process to the hunt. That's what made it so_ delicious _in the end._

_No, he was here for a greater prize: evidence. His left hand clenched, alive with the arcane and in the next moment he was being pulled through the Void, up through the rafters again until he was one with the shadows, melting away unnoticed as everyone scrambled to deal with power changing hands, of the Empress being dead, of Emily being missing--_

_The chatter died behind him as he slithered through the door leading to the announcer's room. The man spoke of the news-- of the Royal Protector being behind bars for his crimes, of the continued absence of the fair Empress's daughter, of new curfews and orders given by the City Watch in the wake of a worsening plague. He paid no mind as he brought his clawed hand down, stopping time with the deft grace that only comes from years of practice. He leapt to the announcer, knowing Burrows had been in this room as recently as this morning. And there it was-- the perfect audiograph to steal, right where the Lord Regent left it._

_He grabbed the recording card and slid it into a pocket on his bandolier just as time resumed. He turned his wolfish head to the announcer and grinned, all flashing teeth, and the man gasped, swiftly pissing himself._

_“Send the Lord Regent my regards,” he said, the low rumble flowing off lips morphed into a snout that curled up at the frightened man. In the next moment, he was holding time still again; he left without a sound, clear of the Tower well before the patrols came around, confident in being the sole holder of the greatest weapon against the Lord Regent's regime._

_Hiram Burrows would rue the day he made the Knife of Dunwall his personal puppet._

Corvo gasped back into reality, limbs shaking as he returned to his own body, to his own _being._ He heaved in air, his skin clammy with sweat as Daud pulled his forehead away, giving Corvo the necessary breathing room. Daud tried to pull further back but Corvo dug his claws into Daud's arm, locking him down and refusing to let him go just yet.

Somewhere, softly, he heard Emily cry out his name.

“What-” Corvo snarled out, “was _that?”_

It had felt so real, so _visceral,_ like he truly had been in Daud's place as he infiltrated the Tower just to collect -- what, an audiograph? A very important audiograph, one that meant the turning of a tide--

Daud's steely gaze bored into him, never wavering.

“It's a _trump card,”_ Daud told him carefully. “A way to not only get Emily back onto the throne, but to undermine _everyone_ involved in the coup-- a coup I was used to _cause_ and you were used to _scapegoat._ It's a way to beat them for _good,_ Corvo, a way to destroy everything they built and avenge _her_ in the process.”

Corvo breathed, clamping his eyes closed, hearing the words Daud was telling him and seeing the memory replay behind his lids. But still--

“You have it? You have the evidence?”

“Yes,” Daud growled out, his triumphant boiling hatred alive in Corvo's mind. “I hate what happened and I regret what I did, but I hate that man _so much more_ for making a fool of me, for causing all of this to happen in the first place.”

Corvo swallowed, still gripping too tight to Daud's arm, the other marked wolf still loathe to pull away and if anything, clung on all the harder himself.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Corvo finally conceded, his own emotions burning with the same shared convictions. “Do you have a plan?”

Daud's mouth pulled into a wicked, toothy grin.

_“Yes.”_

\------

Thunder rumbled across a darkening sky and Geoff huffed against the wind, holding the door of the Hound Pits Pub open for Samuel Beechworth as he rushed back inside, hoping to beat an incoming wall of rain.

“No sign of him yet, Sam?” Geoff asked solemnly, though his voice held a hint of hope. That hope died as Sam shook his head, his heavy eyes looking even sadder than usual.

“ ‘Fraid not, sir,” Sam said, pulling his lapels in against the cold. “And I don't think we'll see him until morning if this weather worsens.”

Geoff sighed, his jaw set as he closed the door to the elements. The pub retained its warmth in temperature but not in spirits; as he turned to face Callista and Cecelia, the other awake residents, they all collectively saddened.

It had been almost two days. And still, there wasn't hide or hair of Corvo Attano.

To be honest, the man -- or _wolfman,_ these days -- had only been gone for around 24 hours, but he was impossible to reach after returning empty-handed from the Golden Cat. Which meant nobody could get him to talk, to even come down to _eat,_ so they had left him up there to brood and wallow, hoping he would return to mingle amongst the other residents on his own time. But then the next morning rolled around and Callista brought him breakfast, it remained untouched. A quick search of the attic revealed that Corvo was gone, leaving none of them with any idea where he'd run off to.

All they could do was sit around and wait with the hope he'd eventually return.

Geoff, luckily, had the patience for waiting. He was a man of the law, after all. One didn't become a soldier without enduring endless days standing at attention or enter law enforcement without the occasional stakeout. The same could not be said about other Pub residents, however.

“Are you both absolutely _sure?”_ Callista asked as she puttered over, fretting over Geoff's clothing where fat heavy raindrops had struck patterns into his City Watch jacket. “Is there nothing? No signs, no clues?”

“Not sure what kind of clues a magical whale-wolf leaves behind,” Geoff said, shrugging. “And besides, I thought his whole expertise rested in stealth, anyway?”

Callista groaned, displeased. “I just don't like it. What if he ran into trouble? On other missions, Sam was there to give him a convenient escape route. Now, the water is too rough, the river is flooding, and there's no way Sam can even _think_ about going out in this.”

“He's also survived one of the worst prisons in the Isles,” Geoff said, trying to quell his niece's fears. “And he's done more in a week than most men do in a month. Spirits, he even saved _me._ Give a man some credit.”

She pursed her lips, unconvinced but unable to refute. She puffed her cheeks, letting the air out roughly.

“I guess I just worry. If he's gone, then what about the Empress's daughter? Who will find her, if he fails? What will happen to the city then?”

Geoff watched her pace, sad that he couldn't do more. So he simply did the only thing he could; he pulled her into a hug, one which she quickly leaned into and reciprocated.

“We just gotta hold out for now. I know it's frustrating to be powerless in finding him, but let's give him another day.” Geoff gently pulled away and offered her a smile. “Besides, it's quite late. You need your sleep more than you need to be worrying about a wayward Royal Protector.”

She rolled her eyes. “I'm an _adult,_ uncle,” she retorted, “I can choose my own sleeping schedule.” But still she exhaled, looking away and out at the heavy drops hitting the pub windows. “But you _are_ right; my mind is too addled. Perhaps some sleep will help make sense of things.”

She pecked his cheek goodnight and then slowly climbed the stairs to her room. Geoff watched her disappear, running a hand through his hair.

“For her sake, I hope Corvo shows up soon.”

“For everyone's sake, I do too,” Sam muttered softly, eyes all too knowing. Geoff nodded in agreement; they'd all been here, in this dingy little safe harbor, briefly filled with _hope_ ever since Corvo reappeared, but now? What good was that hope, if it was lying in a gutter somewhere, drowned like a rat?

 _Best not to think about that._ Geoff consoled himself with the knowledge that he didn't really even know if a fabled whale-wolf _could_ die in a gutter, let alone from a little rain.

Perhaps he could use some rest soon too.

Thunder cracked close enough to rattle the windows and Geoff twitched, waiting for the moment to pass. As soon as it did, he heard the sound of rain increase for just a moment before dying down again with the sound of a creaked, closed door. Geoff's throat caught and his hand flew to his pistol--

\--Just to catch Corvo _fucking_ Attano holding his right hand up, sucking in a breath at the barrel pointed directly at his chest.

Geoff cursed, fumbling the gun back into its holster.

“Corvo! What in the _Void-”_

“Good to see you too, Curnow,” he said with a tired twitch of his mouth. It was only as Geoff neared that he realized Corvo was an absolute _mess;_ his left arm was bandaged and in a sling, while his clothes were drenched and his eyes tired. Still, there was an easiness in his stance that wasn't there before, nor in small smile gracing his features.

“May I introduce you to Emily Kaldwin? You may have already met.”

Geoff, Cecelia and Sam all collectively gaped as the lithe form of the Empress's daughter appeared from behind Corvo, looking around at all of them in turn. She waved softly, looking tired, with a bandaged hand and thick jacket about her shoulders but none the worse for wear.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said softly. “Thank you for helping Corvo.”

“I, um, the pleasure is all ours, Emily,” Geoff sputtered. He looked from Emily to Corvo, disbelieving. Corvo huffed out a laugh, watching his reaction. As Emily went off and said hello to Samuel, Geoff closed the gap, grabbing Corvo's hand and hissing to him in shock.

“You found her? Where in the _Void--?”_

“It's a long story,” Corvo coughed out in that shattered voice of his, “but to make it short, an ally was keeping her safe. He has a plan for taking back the throne, and I'm willing to trust he'll see it through.”

Geoff perked significantly.

“Excellent! Are they here, then? And who is this _ally,_ exactly?”

“That would be me, Curnow,” growled out a deep voice. Geoff looked over to see sharp eyes and even sharper scars marring a severe face and slicked back hair. He fixed black gloves over the sleeves of a red coat and Geoff felt his throat dry up and close.

“Geoff, this is Daud, better known as the Knife of Dunwall. He and his men are hoping to stay here while we work on how to retake the throne and bring Hiram Burrows to justice.”

Geoff stared at Corvo. He gaped at Daud. Then he finally collected himself, willing his voice to work.

“Really? _Him?!”_


	15. With Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween, my loyal readers. I love all of you for your support, so here are some wuffies. C:

Over the next two weeks, time moved in stuttered spurts of action between long periods of boredom. At first, Corvo found the days slogging along at an unbearable crawl. Effectively grounded due to his arm, he could do nothing but watch the rain fall as Daud and his men settled into the Hound Pits Pub. It took very little time for the Whalers to establish themselves in the various rooms, even as they piled in at two, three, or four at a time. As soon as they found space, they wandered contentedly through the Pub, needing little and demanding nothing of the servants and residents. 

It took considerably more time for the Pub inhabitants to get used to this new, fairly numerous lookalike house guest.

“They're so quiet,” Callista muttered as she cleaned a glass from behind the counter, eying a masked individual sitting not three meters away. “And they never ask for anything. Are they comfortable? Do they need us to feed them? I mean, Outsider's eyes, do they even _talk?”_

“They do,” Corvo mumbled back, wincing as his wound twinged from under it's bandaging. “They just have their own way of conversing. They won't talk to you unless _you_ talk to _them.”_

For Corvo, though, it was anything _but_ silent in the Pub. In his mind the chatter of the Whalers was clearer and louder than ever, constantly weaving a tale of words, memories, plans and emotions. Before they had returned to the pub, Corvo had reluctantly agreed to enter their collective consciousness via his mysterious bond to Daud. Since then, the fevering of his mind was finally, _blessedly_ reduced as his need for connection was satiated. His mind no longer expending the energy sifting through individuals to latch onto, he'd nearly passed out from relief, letting himself float on the sea of thoughts supporting him. He had been chewing on his tongue ever since, reluctant to announce aloud how helpful the connection was, but completely unable to deny it either.

 _Instinct._ He preferred it back when it didn't taste so bittersweet. But if it meant getting a full night's rest and waking up with Emily at his side, he'd count his blessings while he still had them.

Emily was settling in best of all. The bridge between the two groups, she chatted with Whaler and pub servant alike, even finding something interesting enough to strike conversation with Piero. She still clung to Corvo night and day; Callista tried to force her to sleep in one of the finer rooms, but all through his recovery Corvo would wake with her tucked under his good arm, her hand carefully in his, as if she was reminding herself he was still there, that he wouldn't up and disappear again. She hardly ever left his side those first few days. She'd escape Callista’s dotings to whisper secrets to him, she'd drag him off to play hide and seek, she clung gently to his coat as she introduced him to each of Daud's followers in turn.

“And this is Kieron and Justina,” she said, leading Corvo by his good arm through the pub. Both of the Whalers looked up at them and nodded, with Justina offering a little wave. Outwardly they looked identical, but their mental tapestries painted two very different pictures, meaning Corvo could tell them apart immediately. How _Emily_ knew who was who, however--

“Kieron always fidgets his leg, and Justina has a line across her mask where she dropped it and it hit a steel girder,” Emily quipped, skipping along after she and Corvo had said their goodbyes. “Plus, they’re all kinda mine anyway, so it'd be pretty silly if I _didn’t_ know them by sight by now.”

Corvo stilled. He stared as Emily bounced a few steps further before pausing, realizing Corvo wasn't following her. She turned, looking back at his curiously blank face.

_“Yours?”_

Emily nodded furiously, quick to explain.

“Oh, yes! It was my birthday present, from Daud.” She shrugged, slowly making her way back to Corvo, whose expression remained stony. “He promised me he would share the Whalers with me. And then Delilah happened, and you showed up and...” She played with her finger instead of meeting Corvo's glare, her earlier enthusiasm stymied. “You... aren't _mad,_ are you?”

He wasn't. At least, not with her. But he was sure to confront Daud about it later, fangs bared and fur bristling.

“Are you going to explain why you gave Emily an entire _assassin spy network_ for her birthday?”

Infuriatingly, Daud was slow to react to the spitting question sent his way, choosing to take his time in turning from his work at the desk he had set up in the attic in the room adjacent from Corvo's. Corvo knew the space was chosen because it was the only area large enough for Daud to lay out all of his documents and plans pulled from the Flooded District, but his irrational emotional state hated that he slept mere meters from the monster who-

“It was a harmless request,” Daud told him nonchalantly. “The Whalers remain under my control because Emily doesn't possess my arcane bond _\-- obviously --_ but it _was_ the gift she requested from me and I saw no reason to go back on it.”

“Her birthday was _seven days ago,”_ he said, painfully brandishing his newly slingless left arm. “Yet she's saying this to me just now. Isn't it about time she, I don't know, gave them back?”

“She tried,” Daud told him with a frown, “but the Whalers _protested_ it. Surprised you didn't notice, they were all moody about it before I finally relented.” Corvo gaped at him, his brain suddenly rewinding through _everything_ it was still trying to learn how to process. Daud tilted his head, sensing Corvo's thoughts going into overdrive. “Outsider's ass, Corvo, don't blow an oil tank,” he grumbled, feeling the mental turmoil. “It's honestly fine. She has no power over them, it's just makes her feel good and the Whalers love indulging her.”

Corvo tightened his grip on the doorframe. His annoyed bitterness wasn't done yet.

“And that _wolf charmer_ talk that came up between you and your lieutenant?” He asked, teeth clashing. “That doesn't have anything to do with this?”

Watching Daud stiffen felt like a victory and Corvo’s mouth twitched. That feeling dissipated as soon as Daud's face darkened, hardening into a scowl that left Corvo wilting.

“What else of that memory do you recall?” He growled out, low and dangerous. Corvo faltered, looking away and nervously wiping his mouth, wishing belatedly he hadn't said anything.

“Just fragments. I…” his eyes darted away as his mind sifted through flashed details. “My emotions latched onto Emily, on Billie calling her dangerous, on the reason that Delilah woman wanted her at all--”

Daud sighed. His hand flexed on the chair handle as he fought to control the wave of magic coursing his system. Corvo felt the assassin's mental state coil, desperately trying to keep the wolf at bay a little longer. Corvo waited, hardly breathing, until the moment passed. Eventually, Daud deflated. He stood up, cold blue eyes meeting fiery brown.

“I want you to understand something before I go any further with this,” he started, his words a controlled whisper, “and that is no matter what Emily is or isn't or has the potential to be, everything I did to get her back, I did for _you,_ not because some blood magic told me to. Got it?”

Corvo's mouth clenched. He exhaled, looking away before nodding. Daud nodded once before backing off. He rounded the desk, picked up a file, and brought it back to him. Corvo eased into leaning against the doorframe, taking the offered poster. He recognized the face of Delilah, similar to Daud's recollection of her.

“There are two types of Marked people in the world that I've found,” Daud started, pacing the room. “You're already familiar with the second and more common type; us. Turned wolves who are visited by the Outsider and given a chance at freedom from the madness this magic causes. In old Gristolan they called us _wolfbanns:_ those cursed with the ability to turn into a monster of the Outsider, forced to do his bidding.”

His lip curled as he pointed to the wanted poster in Corvo's hands.

“The second is much rarer and invariably more powerful: a _wolfssegner,_ or wolf charmer. One who not only has powers from the Void, but commands turned and bonded wolves alike. Delilah was one of them; it’s how she was able to corrupt one of my own.” Daud's jaw clenched. “And Emily has the potential to be one, too.”

Corvo's blood chilled. The poster crumbled as his fist closed.

“How,” he started, choosing each word carefully “is that possible?”

“I noticed early on she has--” Daud's hand waved as he tried to explain. “--a _sway_ on the whalers. They all feel it. Most of them don't notice, or aren't perturbed by it. Billie feared it and subsequently fled, but the majority see her as harmless.” He ran a hand threw his hair, an uncharacteristically vulnerable move. “She's just a _kid.”_

“A child who will be the _most powerful person in the Isles, Daud,_ what--” he snarled out, before scowling, and wetting his lips. “How dangerous is she, really?”

“Unless she's Marked? Not at all. _Void,_ it could have been in her bloodline for generations, Jessamine herself could have had it--”

“This is _hereditary?”_ Corvo asked, his brows hiking towards his hairline. He was finding it hard to keep himself together as his thoughts reeled and his body smoked. Daud, for all his bravado, looked more and more desperate as he hissed at Corvo through fanged teeth.

 _“What I mean_ is that if she is never Marked, it never affects her rule, and the furthest her latent magic will ever go will be --” he tossed a hand in the air for emphasis. “ -- nothing more than my Bonded following her around like little lost hound puppies.”

Corvo _huffed,_ glaring Daud down as if this was somehow _his_ fault, as if he could throw blame onto someone else instead of accepting that Emily was _born this way_ and the awful truth that all of this happened because perhaps it was _supposed to,_ like he was always destined to end up this way--

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He shook his head.

“Does Emily know?”

“No,” Daud snarled out. “At least not this much. The most she knows is I can't bond with her and make her a wolf-- and trust me, she was _disappointed_ before I explained that she was attached to _you,_ and couldn't belong to me…” he sighed, his shoulders dropping. “But that doesn't mean a huge part of my instincts don’t want to belong to _her.”_

Corvo grimaced, fangs flashing as he turned away from Daud, facing his own room instead of the truth in those scarred eyes. His skin crawled and itched and pulled and he wished more than anything that he would _heal already_ so he could just transform again. It would be worth it just to leave new lines across that desperate face.

“You won't tell her,” he demanded, the force of his words rippling out of his chest. “And I won't tell her, and she'll grow up as normal as an Empress can.” Claws grew and gripped his arm, the pain of it searing up his whole left side. Questioning thoughts wormed into his head and his lip curled, forcefully pushing those thoughts out while rounding on Daud again. “If you _dare_ ask why, it’s because I don't want Overseers breathing down her neck every time she passes them. That's for me to deal with, her _protector,_ so that she never has to.”

Daud watched him, face neutral and sobered. Outside, the thunder rolled and the rain picked up again.

“And what if she needs to know?”

Corvo hissed.

_“You won't tell her.”_

“Corvo--”

_“Daud.”_

The power of his name struck Daud like a blow. His left fist clenched, burning with magic begging to be used. Finally, after an agonizing silence, he nodded.

“Fine. Agreed.”

Corvo set his jaw, turned on his heel, and stiffly strode out of the room and the away from the conversation.

Everything only worsened from there. That conversation onward, Corvo became a coiled spring, a pressure valve waiting to burst. Every day he healed a little more but every day he still didn't have access to the magic coursing his veins, the build-up seeping into his temperament as he ran hot and restless. His sleep schedule, recently reacquired, was thrown into turmoil once again. Night terrors flitted at the edge of his dreams and he woke huddled, body burning, his left arm cramping, seizing, and it was all he could do to not wake Emily and send her into a panic.

Worst of all was how long Daud's plans for attacking the Tower were taking. Nobody wanted to rush him at all, but by the 16th Day of Rain, Corvo was getting too twitchy to not confront the man once again.

“Your plan,” Corvo asked, his body feeling like it was filled with static. Daud scowled at Corvo, dismissing his Whaler -- Connor? No, Thomas -- as their conversation was abruptly interrupted. Corvo gave them no mind as they disappeared in a flurry and he stood in their place, demanding Daud's attention. “What is it, when do we move, it's been two damn weeks, Daud, what are you waiting for?”

Corvo's voice shook, but from exhaustion or barely restrained anger, he couldn't tell. Daud’s eyes narrowed, studying him carefully.

“I'm waiting on _you,_ Attano,” he told him, curt and professional. Corvo blinked, not understanding. Before he could gather himself to respond, Daud was opening a drawer and was pushing something long, leathery, and tough into his hands.

Bloodox jerky.

“Wha-” Corvo blinked owlishly down at the dried meat strips in his hand.

“You don't eat enough and you're falling apart at the seams, you think I'm blind?” Daud lifted a lip, sneering. “Keep jerky or food on you at all times. Your body needs more calories now and you can't count on just eating rats until you collapse.” He handed Corvo a sealed package of dried fish as well before shoving him unceremoniously out of the way.

“Eat. Everything. Ask for help. And Outsider's ass, _recover,_ because everything hinges on you being in top form for this.”

Corvo had no response. Not that he could, not when Daud was already paying him no mind and refused to acknowledge his presence. So Corvo retreated, sunk his fangs into the dried protein, and felt the shiver of his limbs recede for the first time in a week. He was even able to settle into sleep, his  satisfied stomach helping him drop off faster than usual.

He woke up to Emily's screams, angry guttural roaring and claws at his throat, gripping him tight and throwing him back down against the mattress. His limbs flailed and his ribs cracked out of his skin on the inhale and he was only marginally aware that the unearthly screams were _his._

 _“Emily!”_ Corvo's vision was blurred but the scarred, wolfen face of Daud swam into view and the blood in his veins _boiled._ He ripped at Daud's arm, dead set on tearing it from his body even as Daud continued, _“Get downstairs, and don’t come back up until I say so!”_

“But-”

_“GO!”_

The command was sharp and didn't need repeating again. Corvo caught Emily as she darted for the door, her face stricken, and suddenly his world stopped as her fearful eye landed on him.

 _“Emily-”_ he tried, but his thoughts a woolen mess even as Daud threw claws into Corvos shoulder, cracking the limb back into place. Corvo _yowled,_ the pain blinding even as Daud's massive presence crashed into him, suffocating him.

 _“Corvo I need you to focus. Your body is trying to transform and it can't unless you fucking_ focus.”

It was like the morning when he woke, half turned and his body busted. It was like Coldridge when he turned inside out, his skin splitting and pulling apart like a cocoon as the monster escaped. But it was also different, because Daud was pushing his body and mind into Corvo, containing his thrashing limbs and fevered thoughts. Corvo heaved, body bowing against the bed and still Daud was there, teeth bared, those blazing eyes and scars grounding him to the present.

 _“Think! Use your magic! Don't let the remnants of Vera unravel you!”_ His jaws snapped audibly in his ear, fangs clicking together as they closed on air. _“FOCUS!”_

And he did. His body was melting and stretching but he focused, swallowing hard and reaching for the sliver of Void that for so many weeks had been unavailable to him. Obediently, it gathered in his hand, ready to be used.

He clenched his fist.

Immediately his body responded. Like a puzzle powered by Void it snapped together and righted itself; fur flowed out and covered his body, his ribs realigned and his shoulders bent back into place. Daud stilled over him, watching carefully, his grip lessening as Corvo's breathing evened out. His chest rose and fell as it gathered oxygen, relief filling his mind and spreading to his chest and limbs.

It took a second for Corvo to register the overwhelming emotion as belonging to _Daud._

The aforementioned wolf sighed, bending his head just low enough for his nose to rest near Corvo's jaw.

_“Good. Thank the Void.”_

_“Daud, the Void is why we're in the mess. Please, don't thank it.”_

A hot huff of air passed over Corvo’s fur before Daud was pulling away, exhaustion playing across his movements. Corvo rolled over and carefully eyed Daud's lycan body; he was huge, and black, but the scars that pulled at his face and throat were visible even through the thick fur. His snout was crooked and the grey was already creeping over his muzzle, aging him more than his human body showed. As Corvo watched, Daud's fist lit up and his form compressed, making room for the both of them in the restricted attic space.

“ _I've let Emily and everyone else know you're okay_ ,” Daud told him tiredly. He sat back on his haunches, listening to the rain hit the window near his head. _“She should be here soon.”_

No sooner had the thought crossed through their bond then Emily was bursting in, eyes full of tears as she flung herself into Corvo's huge neck, burying her face into the shaggy fur there.

“Corvo! I'm-- I'm so sorry, you were having a bad dream and I told Daud because I didn't know what was going on and then you started _transforming--”_

 _“I'm okay, Emily,”_ he said, nuzzling into her. He pulled back, his ears pinning down. _“I'm so sorry I scared you, I never wanted you to be scared of me.”_

Small fists beat against the heavy coiled muscle of his neck.

“I'm not scared _of_ you, I'm scared _for_ you!” She clarified, pounding her hand against his stupidity. He whined at her softly and she looked up at him, grabbing at his nose. “I don't care what you look like, I just don't want you to _die again!”_

Corvo's face softened. He clenched his fist, letting his lycan forme smoke away until he could gather her up into his human arms, pull her to his chest, and rock her gently against a sweat-slicked shirt.

“It's gonna take more than a bad dream to kill me, Emily,” he whispered to her, and she clung to him all the tighter. Corvo murmured to her, convincing her to head back to bed and she nodded, finally letting go. She walked to Daud, looking him over carefully before fiercely hugging him as well, petting at the fur on his neck and kissing his cheek and Corvo couldn't even find it in him to get angry and protective at the sight of such affection.

With a small wave and a blown kiss, she left the attic and went back to her own bed. As soon as she was gone, Daud's eyes went sharp, focused only on Corvo.

_“Are you feeling better?”_

Corvo flexed his hand, feeling the cold, familiar burn of the Void just beneath his skin.

“Yes.” For the first time in a long time, he really meant it.

Daud's grin broke across his face and pulled at his scars.

_“Good. Now let's have a chat about how we're going to retake Dunwall Tower.”_

\------

A gazebo stood tall in front of him, well lit even in the darkness. It was three months to the date-- three months of guilt, regret and careful, fevered planning -- and now he was back in the dead of night during a torrential downpour, to right a wrong that should have never happened in the first place.

The structure itself was strategically placed, hard to ambush. It was only with strength of numbers and the element of surprise that Daud had even been able to complete his job. A job that cost three Whaler’s lives and a whole city to crumble under the toppled form of its fair Empress.

He should've known the coin offered would never have covered the costs.

Daud narrowed his eyes, breathing deep, watching the guards circuit the gazebo and gardens. He clenched his fist; in the next moment his men appeared from across the grounds, incapacitating the guards and hiding their bodies. Once done they wasted no time returning to his side, as quiet as a whisper. He tilted his shaggy head towards them, his glistening black fur a sharp contrast against the red of his coat.

“Rinaldo. Thomas. Report.”

His words came out sharp and edged, his wolfish head warping the words as they passed over teeth and tongue. It wasn't a form he used often anymore but tonight was different. Tonight was _special._

Rinaldo bowed his masked face in response.

“The outer perimeter has been taken care of,” he relayed to Daud. “It was easy enough for Leon and Montgomery to simply rewire all traps and remove the whale oil tanks powering the arc pylons. Geoff cleared us for entry from the watch station outside the gates. From there it was as simple as shooting hagfish in a barrel.”

Daud nodded, fighting the urge to shake the water from his fur as his lip curled.

“And inside?”

Thomas straightened.

“Corvo has already infiltrated and is searching for Sullivan; it seems that particular part of the mission was _personal_ to him and he wanted to see to it on his own.” Daud huffed out a laugh as Thomas started counting down on his gloved fingers. “There are two areas of guards to worry about: those stationed right below Burrows’ room and those outside the announcer's room.”

“And the Overseer?”

Thomas tilted his head.

“Martin is with Geoff. They plan on apprehending both Burrows and Sullivan when the time comes for it. Devon and Connor’s teams are with them.”

“Good. Keep an eye on Martin. He smells as trustworthy as an oil slick.”

“Agreed, sir. And noted.”

After that, he dismissed them. They were gone in a flurry of ash, back to their posts, waiting further orders.

It was endgame, now. All the pieces were in their places. It was time for his move.

Daud clenched his clawed fist and pulled himself through the Void.

The path to the Tower was an easy one; his men had properly taken care of the guard and traps, but Daud still kept his senses extended, still looked for any pitfalls to avoid or hoops to jump through. Aside from the rain, the grounds were eerily silent-- being devoid of any resistance, it was almost easy enough to  go up to the main door and _knock._

He didn't, of course. He smoked up rafters and clawed the scaffolding, working into the main throne room from a maintenance shaft that had never been blocked or checked since the Royal Protector was removed from office. It wasn't long after that Daud was peering down at the throne room, the interior bright and clean, a high contrast to the inky blackness outside. He swept a sharp eye over the room; guards lay unconscious or incapacitated, their bodies strewn haphazardly, as if the assailant was too hurried to clean up after themselves. Daud huffed, immediately recognizing the handiwork.

 _“Clean up after yourself,”_ Daud grumbled to Corvo over their bond as he crawled into the high shadow of a chandelier. The response was amused, if not distracted.

_“Finally showing up to join the party?”_

_“Cut it out,”_ Daud snarled, lip curling even where Corvo couldn't see it. _“Or Burrows will already suspect you.”_

_“Isn't that the plan?”_

Daud growled. It _was_ the plan, he wanted Corvo to make a scene, but really, there was a _finesse_ to this sort of thing that Corvo should really consider.

Any rebuttal Daud had planned was cut off by the sudden appearance of his target. The Lord Regent appeared from his room, two guards in tow, and Daud zeroed in on him with predatory focus.

“I always knew he'd come for me, I knew it,” Burrows muttered, hands turning and his voice an even higher pitched than usual. “Is the safe house ready? Where is Sullivan? That mad dog is my last line of defense against someone -- some _thing --_ like Corvo Attano.”

“We haven't heard from him, but last we know is he was patrolling around the announcer's tower. I can call for him if you'd like--”

Static filled the speakers of the room. The feedback screeched in Daud's ears but the noise eventually gave way to words; Burrows himself, speaking at length, and speaking to _himself._

_“If I explain, then you will see, I am not at fault. My Poverty Eradication Plan was meant to bring prosperity to the City, to rid us of those scoundrels who waste their days in filth and drink--”_

Burrows’ pale head went a shade lighter and while his guard stood stupefied, listening to the confession, Burrows was running, sprinting straight for the announcer's office. Somewhere in the depths of the Tower, a whale-wolf screamed.

 _“Sullivan!_ Get Sullivan, that bastard Attano is spreading slander and he needs to be stopped!”

And as Burrows fled, Daud gave chase.

 _“The seed has been planted,”_ Daud told Corvo evenly, despite his heart rate spiking and his focus tightening in on his prey. _“You better be dealing with that grey monstrosity.”_

There was a flash of affirmation followed by delight and Daud's lip curled, reveling in Corvo's own enjoyment. _His_ job was relatively easy: distract everyone from Daud's presence. So far, he was doing a perfectly good job of that.

_“And it was a simple plan – bring the disease bearing rats from the Pandyssian Continent, and let them take care of the poor for us. The plan worked perfectly. At first. But the rats – it was as if they sought to undo me.”_

Burrows crashed up the stairs, his breath wheezing out of his slender chest. Daud slithered up the stairs after him, a trail of smoke and ash and shadow.

_“I knew the truth would come out eventually. So there was no other way than to be rid of her, and take power myself. She had to die, you see. SHE HAD TO DIE.”_

Burrows grabbed for the audiograph, just as Daud's clawed and gnarled hand grasped his wrist tight, halting his movements. His body followed his arm until he was a grinning, wolfish phantom, materializing out of the air, snarling down at his hapless prey.

Burrows _blanched._

“Daud…” he wheezed, desperately trying to pull his hand out of that iron grip. Daud took a step forward and Burrows stumbled back, away from the audiograph spilling all of his secrets.

“Hello Burrows,” he gnashed out, words tumbling over teeth. “Long time no see.”

Burrows was sharp with the smell of fear as he stammered, powerless, as Daud took another step, bearing down on him.

“Wh-what are you doing here? Corvo is-- you killed the Empress, at my behest, and now you think he won't kill _you?”_

_“But you can see how my plan should have worked? Would have worked! If everyone had just followed orders.”_

Daud relished in the crunch of the wrist in his palm. Burrows cried out and Daud rolled his tongue out over his grinning fangs.

“You small, worried man,” Daud rumbled out, pulling the assassin's blade from his belt. “You should have known better than to lie to me, should have known your last mistake would have been making an enemy not of the Royal Protector, but of _me.”_

Burrows squealed like the mouse he resembled. He reached for his pistol just for Daud to disarm him in a blink, returning to Hiram with the knife to his throat. Daud's lip curled back, jaws snapping in Burrows’ face. The man cried and reeked of terror.

“Wh-what do you want! Daud, please I'll give anything, please!”l We've done business for so long!”

“You can't give back the life of an Empress, and you have nothing else I want.” He drew the blade back. “Goodbye, Hiram.”

The blade lurched forward just as the color drained from the room and a strong, clawed hand grabbed his. Daud _snarled_ , head snapping to see the face of a laughing skull staring back at him. They hung there, suspended in time, the Void burning from them in air stilled by magic.

“Leave him alive,” Corvo rasped, voice broken from exertion. Daud's rage boiled over the mental connection, pouring hot onto Corvo, but still the mask didn't budge. His grip tightened, resolute. “He's already a dead man, but let's at least do this the right way.”

“You would dare take this from me?” Daud all but roared, his face twisting from the effort to talk. “Why? This is my kill!”

“You're better than your prey,” Corvo told him solemnly, and Daud twitched. He _wasn't,_ he _knew_ that he wasn't, but Corvo said it with such conviction...

“I promise you'll see him die. I _promise you._ But he doesn't need to answer to us. He needs to answer to the people, the ones he released the plague on and took an Empress from.” Corvo sighed, his grip adjusting. “Besides, we can't keep everyone hanging in time.”

“Sullivan? Campbell?”

The mask tilted and he rolled a shoulder. “Taken care of.”

Daud looked away, lip curling in disgust. He refused to meet Corvo's eye as he flipped his blade around and resumed time.

Color and smell and sound rushed his senses. Hiram could hardly scream before the hard hilt of Daud's sword was slammed into his face. Burrows fell like a stone, the smack more than enough to knock him out cold. Daud exhaled, the wolf smoking away, his prey caught to the best of his ability. He glowered at Corvo, who was far too smug behind that mask than was healthy.

“You better not make me regret this, Attano.”

Corvo coughed out a laugh, clasping at Daud's arm. A strange mixture of fondness and amusement trickled across their bond.

“You went through all this trouble to get Emily back on the throne,” he rasped out as Daud nudged Burrows with a boot. “So I promise, I'll make the decision worth your while."

“Good,” he grunted out as he tossed Burrows limp body over his shoulder. “Because if not, you're next on my list.” Corvo barked out a laugh and Daud's lip twitched.

Perhaps it was for the best this way. And perhaps Daud wasn't the only one in this city to stay true to a promise made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm almost done?
> 
> I might?? finish this?? the person who never finishes a damn thing???
> 
> /hyperventilates


	16. With a Heavy Heart

* * *

“...And on this the 5th day of Wind in the Year 1838, I, Anton Sokolov, hereby crown you, Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin, First of her Name and Empress of the Isles.”

Sokolov -- looking thinner but as bristled as the last day Corvo saw him in the Tower -- bowed, presenting the royal sceptre to the small form of Emily Kaldwin. The cape she was draped in was a deep teal, embroidered with the Kaldwin house crest in gold lace, tied over the finest white dress Emily owned up to that point. The train flowed out like the tail of a splendid bird of paradise; the fabric was heavier than it looked and suited a larger frame, but Emily didn't falter under the weight. She kept her back straight, her eyes steady. As the gathered nobles watched, she took the thin golden sceptre off its pillow fearlessly, wielding it at her side with the determination of not just an Empress, but a warrior. When she met their eyes she did not flinch and her cheeks only flushed pink at the eruption of applause.

Corvo watched her from the side of the throne, eyes carefully trained on the Kaldwin symbol of the robe. It wasn't long ago when he saw that same robe worn on another woman's shoulders, someone taller, wiser, more befitting of its length and size. He sighed as he brought his hands together, his smile not reaching his eyes.

He never thought he'd have to see his daughter bear the burden of her country so soon.

“Thank you all,” Emily told them, her voice carrying over the applause. The claps quickly died down into murmurs; her steady voice and sharp eyes belied her youth. “I may be young, but I promise to do the best for my people, just as my mother did before me.” Then she bowed her head lightly and raised a hand toward the door. “Now, if you'd be so kind, please join us in the mess hall. The maids and servants have prepared us lunch.”

With that, the chatter picked back up; bodies turned away, conversation turned to other topics, and light laughter filled the air. Sokolov gave Emily a wink and a smile; she returned neither.

“You did well, Empress.”

She sighed dramatically and shrugged her shoulders and Corvo felt the corners of his mouth twitch. _Still a child underneath after all._

“Only as well as could be expected. I doubt any of them take me seriously,” she gestured vaguely at the small group mingling, making their way towards food.

“Respect will take time,” Sokolov told her as Corvo neared. “But you didn't turn the plague on the people nor commit regicide. You have points over Burrows already.”

“About that, the plague,” Emily said sternly, catching Sokolov off-guard, “no more human experiments for a cure.”

Sokolov blinked.

“I beg your pardon--”

“I'm _not_ The Regent and my rules are not his. We'll find a different way to fix the plague.”

“And how do you propose we do that without test subjects?”

“A man named Piero Joplin. He says he knows you? He's here, probably getting some refreshments. Talk with him; I'm sure he'd be happy to hear you'd like to collaborate.”

Sokolov gaped. Corvo put a hand on Emily's shoulder and leaned into the conversation.

“You heard her, Anton,” Corvo added, smirking. “Empress knows best.”

Sokolov _harrumphed,_ bowing before muttering out a _“yes Empress”._ Emily kept her chin held high until Sokolov sauntered off a ways, then turned to Corvo, beaming.

“Did I do well?” she asked him candidly, her fingers smoothing out the fabric of the royal protector vest he wore in place of his coat.

“As well as could be expected,” he parroted back to her. She beamed, grasping at the hand on her shoulder.

“And nobody suspects our _little secret?”_ She queried, practically bouncing even while grounded under those thick ceremonial robes. He chuckled, letting his mind extend reassuringly to hers.

“Not a one of them,” he said, and she cheered. He put a finger to his lips but his smile didn't falter even as she calmed, slipping her freshly unbandaged right hand inside his wrapped left. Ever since Burrows had been arrested, the charges against Corvo had been lifted; Sullivan had been found to be the real heretic wolf working under Burrows, meaning the “rumors” about Corvo -- that he was a giant monster and had killed the Empress -- were far less prevalent. The scapegoat had found a scapegoat of their own with only a select few knowing the whole truth.

“Well, don't count me among the commoners,” an even voice added. Wearing new robes of High Overseer red, Teague Martin made his way over, the picture of smug superiority. His exposure of Campbell meant he had risen quickly in the Overseer ranks, with most appointing him as standing High Overseer until a more official ruling was made. Corvo tensed as the Overseer neared and even Emily's smile came out forced.  “Your Excellency, you look positively radiant. May I have a word with your Royal Protector?”

“A moment, Martin.” Corvo hailed Geoff over from his post; with Emily safe and collected, Corvo turned a dark eye onto the cold smile of the standing High Overseer. “What can I help you with?”

“Oh, you don't have to feign politeness for _me,_ Corvo, we're friends now, no matter our position.” Though even as he said that, his chest puffed and his shoulders straightened. He gave Corvo a quick glance over, a hand casually on his sabre as he noted the Protector’s new clothes and fresh cut. “You clean up well for a man just out of prison.”

Corvo scowled. “What do you want?”

Martin gave him a dejected look. “Flattery doesn't work on you? Shame, I'll have to remember that for the future.” He cast an errant eye on Emily as she stepped out with Geoff and it was all Corvo could do to contain the rumble in his throat.

“You have your position, Martin. What more could you want?” Martin turned his attention back to Corvo, and the smirk he saw made his neck prickle.

“Corvo, you _can't_ be so naïve, you worked with Euhorn and Jessamine for how long before now? The High Overseer and the crown work very closely together. Even if the ruler is not of the faith, we still keep an eye on each other's _assets._ ”

The feeling of unease grew. “Get to the point, Martin.”

“The point, Royal Protector, is that I know things that your enemies would be all too happy to lap up and use against you.” He twisted casually but Corvo refused to move, watching Martin darkly. “You think those rumors about you disappeared? I'm sure there are still those out there who believe the stories and some might even be powerful enough to do something about it.”

“Are you _threatening me?”_ Corvo all but snarled, his voice a hoarse whisper. To his surprise, Martin threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh Void, no, I'm not an _idiot!”_ He slapped a hand on Corvo's shoulder. “I'm blackmailing you.” When Corvo visibly bristled Martin just smiled again, waving it off. “Look, don't take this so seriously! I'm not the kind to kiss and tell. This is just to hold over your head so I can get the things I want for the Abbey.”

Corvo's brow furrowed, his glare going quizzical. Martin laughed again.

“You should see the look on your face. Listen, the facts of the situation is that Emily is young and she has yet to understand economy.” Martin waved a hand. “Finances, taxes, liquidation, that sort of litigation. It is no offense to her but it is still beyond her years. I'd hate to see the Abbey get pushed under the rug, so to speak. As long as you and her cabinet keep things green, then we'll keep the best of relations with you and the throne.”

Corvo exhaled, his eyes still never leaving Martin.

“That's it? Just favor the Abbey?”

Martin beamed and clapped his shoulder again. “Exactly, not a difficult proposition at all! Just don't tell your buddy Daud, okay? He makes life hard enough for my Overseers as it is.”

The Royal Protector raised an eyebrow and felt a heart thud in his ears. “Daud and I aren't _buddies.”_

Martin blinked. He looked around. “He isn't here now? Him and his men?”

Corvo shook his head. “After we stormed the Tower, he and his men returned to the Flooded District. It was a temporary arrangement.”

“Oh, well, _that_ is news to me. The Empress must be so lonely, she loved having all those masked men hanging around.”

“She's getting along fine,” Corvo said, straining a smile. “And you will too. Just keep in touch; we'll make sure the Abbey is taken care of.”

Martin shifted, then smiled. He looked, for the first time in Corvo's experience, _genuine._

“I do appreciate your work, Corvo. It was fun, being on _your side_ for a change.”

Martin turned and sauntered off, leaving Corvo to stand alone at the throne. The room had cleared; only Martin’s fleeting and cheery _“see you at the execution”_ filled the silence. Corvo exhaled, allowing himself a single moment to let a smoking, clawed hand rest on the back of the ornate chair. The one that Jessamine used to fill, the one Emily had yet to sit in comfortably.

In his ear, the Heart pounded louder and a swarm buzzed at the back of his skull.

_“You have brought her home… but have you brought Home to her?”_

Corvo grit down on his aching teeth and didn't know the answer.

\------

He wished it would rain. He wished the heavens would open up and bring the downpour, would wash away the gruesome act that was about to occur. It was the season for it, it was the occasion for it. And yet the sky stayed a persistent blue, rare this time of year. The wind, however, made a mockery of the sunlight, coming in brisk and smelling of frost and winter. Corvo breathed deep, pulled his thick, cleaned Royal Protector coat closer to himself, then cast a wary eye down onto the young Empress standing next to him.

“Are you ready?”

Emily was stiff in every way as she turned to look up at him. She even refused to shiver, showing no weakness in those hard eyes that watched him like burning coals. She nodded once and no smile graced her lips. Corvo lowered his head and walked forward, the wood paneling creaking underneath his steps.

“Hiram Burrows, Spymaster to the late Empress Jessamine Kaldwin, you have been found guilty of high treason and conspiracy against the crown, for using biological warfare against the peoples of the Isles, and for instigating the assassination of Empress Jessamine Kaldwin and successfully committing regicide. The punishment for these actions is capital, culminating in a public death by gunshot.”

A Coldridge guard pushed the shaking body of Hiram Burrows forward. The man's head shone with sweat and as Corvo looked him over, he swallowed, tensing as his hands were drawn behind his back. Prison didn't suit Hiram well; three weeks after his arrest the man's skin was sallow, his eyes deep and haunted. Surprisingly he was silent, his eyes flitting between Corvo and the young Empress and finding no warmth between them.

He reeked of fear and excrement. Corvo fought the urge to flash his laughing fangs.

“Please, stand him upright,” Emily said, her voice as clear as bells. “I wish to see his face.”

Obediently the guard pushed the hilt of his sword against Hiram's back. Hiram jerked and he struggled up, going ramrod straight. The sun did not reflect in Emily's eyes as she walked over to look up at him.

“She trusted her life, her Empire, to you,” she said, voice hard as stone, her face unmoving. “You held all of her secrets. You looked upon her and you exploited the kindness she gave you.”

Hiram swallowed. Emily frowned.

“I should thank you, Hiram. Because of you, I know what the face of treachery looks like. Because of you, I will never be blind to the forces that may try to fight against me from the shadows. Because of you, I will never be my mother.”

She pulled a dagger out of her sleeve. It was small, the hilt a perfect size for her hand, the metal shining in the bright afternoon light. When she lifted it high and brought it down, Hiram jerked, his eyes flinching closed.

The blade didn't grace his skin. Instead, Emily let it bite the palm of her right hand along a thin white line, a recent scar reopened. She watched the blood bead up before her fist clenched and she resheathed the knife. She looked back to Hiram and spoke with such conviction Corvo could feel the static of it.

“Because of you, I will _never_ be so easily destroyed.”

She then stepped away from Hiram, nodding to the guard on the far end of the yard and taking her place next to Corvo. She only glanced at the Royal Protector once before going back to watch the guard approach. His hat hung low over his eyes, shadowing his features as he readied his pistol.

“Any last words, Hiram?” Corvo wondered casually, as if he was asking his opinion on the weather. The guard raised his scarred eye and leveled his gun.

Hiram blanched. He gaped. Corvo's mouth twitched.

“Nothing to say? Fire when ready, guard.”

Hiram twisted, frantic, trying to yell, but the shot rang true. Burrows crumpled, the angry red hole in his chest expanding as his life flowed away, soaking into his ragged and dirty clothing. The guard put away the pistol and grunted in disgust.

As the other Coldridge guards came to collect the body and the viewers dispersed, Emily twitched next to Corvo. His hand stilled her shoulder until the square was emptied and the shooter was close enough to offer a bow. As soon as he was upright again Emily was grasping for his hand, pulling him close.

 _“Daud,”_ she breathed, her eyes misty.

“Empress,” he growled evenly, dipping his head to her. He turned a sharp eye to Corvo. “Attano.”

Corvo swallowed and nodded back. It was like being _struck_ ; his chest constricted as his mind lit up, their bond allowing unspoken emotion and memory to intertwine and process. Three weeks of conversation eventually coalesced into a bearable and comforting background chatter. Corvo tore his eyes back to Emily in the present, who was watching them excitedly, rocking on balls of her feet.

“Glad you could make it in time,” Corvo told him, the shadow of a smirk still playing on his lips. Daud, however, dropped all pretense and flashed a nasty grin.

“I wouldn't have missed this for the world,” he ground out. “That look on his face; priceless.”

“He pissed himself, you should be proud.”

“Not as proud as I was to hear that speech,” he said, motioning down to Emily. She flushed, going sheepish, looking away even though her smile never faltered. “Who taught you that kind of blood magic?”

“Not magic,” she mused. “I just wanted to be dramatic.”

“I wonder who she gets it from,” Daud growled affectionately and Corvo frowned even as his stomach flipped at Daud's playful tones. Emily grasped at Corvo just the same, happy to be _Emily_ with them, instead of just the image of an Empress.

“Will you be escorting us back to the Tower?” Emily asked candidly as both men faltered. Daud met Corvo's eye, licking his lip carefully.

“I'm afraid that wasn't part of the deal,” Daud told her quietly and her disappearing smile hit Corvo like the bullet in Burrows's heart. His brain buzzed with a surprising mixture of emotion before flattening out again. “I got the last shot; nothing more, nothing less. Besides, it's best I don't linger in a place like Coldridge.”

“What if I asked you to stay?” Emily blurted out. “I'm Empress now, you have to do what I say.”

Daud shifted, his hand twitching at his side. “Emily, it's not that easy.”

“Why not? It's been three weeks! I miss you and I miss the Whalers and I know Corvo does too, even if he doesn't say it.” Corvo's eyebrows raised and his face heated as Daud's icy eyes flicked to him. “Please come to dinner, at least. Bring the pups, _please Daud.”_

It wasn't every day Corvo watched a hardened assassin wilt at the whim of a little girl, but he saw just that, there in the brightened autumn courtyard of Coldridge. Daud exhaled, huffed, shook his head. Laughed.

“Fine. I relent, but only if it's okay with your Royal Protector.”

Corvo felt himself suddenly rooted under the insistent stare of Emily. He gaped and Daud's earlier amusement returned, filling his thoughts. Corvo ground his teeth into his jaw as he realized Daud was doing this to _tease him._

“Emily...” he groaned. Her eyes went misty and he sighed, turning a curled lip to Daud. “Come inconspicuous, don't make a scene, and Emily goes to bed at her normal time, no exceptions.”

Emily beamed, her eyes radiant. Daud's lip managed a twitch, his eyes still locked on Corvo.

“See you tonight then,” he grinned, before disappearing in a blink. The loss of Daud's presence in his head left him staggered and the crackle of magic left the hair on his arms raised. Next to him, Emily giggled, smirking triumphantly.

“Now you _have_ to ask him.”

Corvo bit down, his jaw clenching visibly.

“Sometimes I think you're taking to this whole Empress thing far too easily.”

She laughed and together they walked back to the Tower, an irregular heart beating fast and heavy next to Corvo's own.

\------

Dinner quickly devolved into an impromptu party, with Emily the all-to-gracious host. She spent every second after returning to the Tower cancelling everything for the day and focusing on prep, making sure the servants had the tower cleaned, the food cooked, and -- much to Corvo's curious unease -- the guest rooms readied.

“They aren't staying overnight, Emily,” he would calmly remind her and she would nod, humming to herself, never giving him a proper response. He scowled after her bouncing frame and said nothing else.

It was five hours after the execution that the invited group showed. Surprisingly, they knocked on the front door; more surprisingly, they all came _maskless._ Corvo started, a strange sensation of _knowing_ settling on him even as he looked at each novel face. Not everyone was present, he noticed; only a dozen or so had accompanied Daud to the Tower, perhaps to remain less conspicuous, as promised. All of them beamed and beelined to the new Empress, who greeted them with enthusiastic hugs and squeals. Daud let his men greet and relax, choosing instead to saunter over to the visibly uneasy Royal Protector. Out of his regular master assassin red, he wore an unassuming shirt and vest, covered in a black coat. He smirked easily, nudging Corvo's arm.

“Having trouble adjusting?” He asked, keeping his voice low while watching Connor entertain Emily with a card trick. Corvo sucked in a breath before letting it out.

“The opposite, actually,” he confessed, letting the swirl of emotion flow in and out from the minds of the Whalers around him. Their giddiness was infectious; he turned to Daud as Emily led them to the kitchens. “Where are the others?”

Daud just twitched a lip and looked around. “Here and there. Some are out patrolling, but they've been restless for weeks. Most of them jumped at the opportunity to watch every inch of the Tower tonight.”

Corvo's eyebrow raised and he followed after the small group into the dining hall. “Your low profile has returned; nobody even knows the role you played. Emily is safe on the throne. You aren't back to 'business as usual’?”

Daud exhaled, his jaw working. When he next looked up it wasn't to Corvo, but to his men: a group of assassins, now sitting and laughing and joking, all for the entertainment of a ten-year-old Empress.

“Listen to them,” Daud whispered, and Corvo knew he didn't mean just verbally. “They haven't been like this in weeks. None of us have been. Work is slow. I…” he trailed off, and Corvo looked at him, catching his glance. “The field doesn't really appeal like it used to.”

Corvo's brow furrowed. “You seemed pleased enough to kill Burrows.” Daud scoffed.

“That was a favor, a final nail in a walking coffin. You didn't _pay_ me to sneak into Coldridge and dress up as one of your guards to get the final shot on a hated man.” Daud shook his head, chewing on his cheek. “He’s the first person I've killed since the Empress. My men can't survive on this dying business.”

“You’ve had no other contracts? Nothing; no kidnappings, no disappearances, no rogue pirate gangs?”

“Why you so interested where my coin comes from, Attano?”

Corvo's lip twitched but he said nothing else. A worming question tried burrowing into his thoughts but he pushed it away, instead focusing on the food being brought out from the kitchens. He ate with the group in complete ease, keeping the usual constant eye on Emily, but as the night progressed, he let his sight wander. Every Whaler was trained on her; even a few nearby outside had a bead on her location, even if they weren't in eyesight. Corvo's glance would dart to Daud; the assassin remained nonplussed, controlled, even _content._

Corvo felt his stomach flip over itself -- not out of fear, but out of the realization that Daud had been _right,_ all those weeks ago. These bonded wolves, even though they belonged to Daud's magic, were irrevocably tuned to _Emily._ It wasn't in a creepy, fixated fashion, but one that was natural; Corvo came to the bemused conclusion that they all cared about her almost as much as he did.

His fur itched under his skin. When the conversation died and the plates were cleared, Corvo finally found Emily's eye and nodded. Immediately she beamed, climbing up onto her chair and chinking her glass of soda with a fork. When all the Whalers looked at her, her smile only grew more toothy.

“I'm really glad I got to see you all, and I know I already said it, but I missed this a lot.” She breathed in. “Which is why I have a proposition for you.”

Daud's eyes narrowed. Corvo nursed his wine and wished it was something sharper.

“I'm inviting Daud to be my new Spymaster. And I'd be more than happy if you all came with him.”

Immediately, Corvo's head buzzed with questions. The table burst with murmurs and eyes turned to Daud. The assassin frowned, his eyes darting before landing back on the Empress.

“Is this a joke?” He growled out, and the other voices died away like they were commanded to silence. “You have me shoot the old spymaster to become the new one?”

Emily shifted, face flushing as she frowned.

“There's nobody better; you took care of me, got me here. You know more about Dunwall than anyone.”

“I wouldn't say that,” Daud replied, teeth gnashing, “but my men pose too much of a threat, there's no way our collective profile won't attract unwanted attention--”

“You steal Emily from the Tower to keep her safe,” Corvo’s defensively added, voice rising over Daud's, “but you doubt your ability to keep her safe _within it?”_

“You think I'm not the most wanted face in Dunwall?” Daud argued, a dark laugh bubbling up. “Do you know the agents who would be on Emily if they knew I was here?”

“Then they won't know, or if they do, you'll _silence them.”_ Corvo twirled the wine in his glass, trying to keep his voice even.

“It will bring political suicide--”

 _“Why are you fighting this?”_ Corvo snarled, claws gripping tight to his glass. Daud glared at him. “She's offering a job position. Will you take it, or not?” The table went deathly silent, the two giants suffocating out the presence of anyone else. Emily watched them both, worried, unable to bring herself to speak again.

Daud didn't reply. Corvo set his jaw, skin pulling painfully as he flexed a hand. Finally, he turned to Emily and stood.

“Emily, if you'll excuse me,” he said, bowing -- a movement far too formal, too stiff -- “if the decision changes, you know where to find me.”

She nodded numbly, sitting back in her chair. He turned and strode off, not looking back even when he heard the quiet, _“it was his idea,_ ” confession Emily proffered to Daud.

He took the stairs two at a time. He gnashed his teeth until they ached to grow. His claws flexed, burning out black and furred, the magic burning like oil in his veins. He knew all the shortcuts and he took them readily; he let himself turn to smoke, disappearing up vents and through passages he knew not even Daud's men were aware existed. By the time he reemerged on the roof he was half formed and ragged, his limbs too long and black, body more like ink than anything resembling wolf or man. His eyes glowed as he turned his nose to the sky and _screamed._

The sound was unearthly; like a harpooned whale, it was both high and low, sad and angered. A few Whalers fled from the call; looking for new perches, or perhaps to report to Daud. He didn't care either way. He settled down, alone, letting the steam of his breath hang heavy in the cold night air.

In his chest the Heart beat steadily, gears turning in their sickly rhythm.

_“A horse can be led to water, but it cannot be forced to drink.”_

Corvo felt his lip curl, tongue rolling out over fangs. It was stupid, to think Daud would just _accept._ That he would walk into that throne room and uproot his life, his home, his _people,_ to work for the very crown he conspired against. He growled against the night air.

The Heart beat against the cage of his ribs and  Corvo _hated_ it.

Home. Security. _Belonging._ He had brought these things with the Tower, to Emily. Wasn't that the goal? Wasn't that the point, to replace what was lost? What was the piece he missing in all this?

The wind whipped through his fur. The Heart gave him no answers.

He was contemplating sprinting off into the night when a heavy presence made itself known. Ash and smoke came together behind him into the form of a wolf-man, one that Corvo didn't bat an eye for. Even as Daud settled next to him, sharp eyes trained to meet his, he didn't turn. Instead he kept his own gaze toward the Tower's gazebo, the Heart beating heavier and heavier next to his own.

“You've got some nerve, running off like that,” Daud gnashed out. Corvo's ear twitched. His eye darted to Daud before looking away again.

 _“How do you do it?”_ Corvo queried.

“Practice,” he snarled out. “The vocal cords stay human but my head turns-”

 _“I don't mean that,”_ Corvo mused before going quiet again. Daud watched him carefully -- those predatory eyes too knowing, too sharp -- before gently extending his mind to Corvo. When Corvo didn't close him off or pull away, he pressed reassuringly against his thoughts, smoothing away the jagged edges of Corvo's emotions. Corvo sighed, the night air biting in his nose.

 _“I can't do this, Daud,”_ he confessed. _“I've been trying for weeks; I can't just_ will _myself to be a human anymore. But if I keep this bottled up, it’ll just burst out and endanger Emily, her staff, myself…”_ he shook his shaggy head, the Heart loud and persistent.

“We aren't meant to walk this world alone,” Daud told him soberly. “We come into this world because of another, immediately bonding with them. And if not, we are compelled to seek others out.” He eyed Corvo carefully. “If we are alone, we go mad. We die.”

The Heart pounded in his ears.

_The dead cannot forgive the living._

_“Daud,”_ he started and his chest ached, the Heart snagging on his lungs, the whine threatening to escape him. _“I want you here. I_ need _you here, in the Tower. I need your men in my head, calming this thing I've become. But--”_

He ground his teeth down as his lip curled over, his own pulse deafening.

_“You turned down the position. Why?”_

Daud's glowing eyes narrowed.

“I didn't.”

_“You didn't?”_

“No. I also didn't accept. I need to hear it from you, first.”

Corvo blinked, face pulling into a sneer.

_“Daud, don't--”_

“Corvo, this is important to me,” Daud clarified, stern voice clashing against sharp teeth. “It's explicitly your idea that Emily agreed to voice, but she asked because you were too scared to do so directly. If you want me to work for you, _you_ need to express your full consent to that. Otherwise, I don't want to be here, bringing up bad memories.”

_“Daud--”_

Those glowing blue eyes stared at him, _through_ him.

_“--You killed her--”_

Daud shrank back. The Heart beat faster against his own and he steadied his breath.

 _“--But you_ saved _Emily. You got the crown back in our hands. Better than anyone could have, you kept her safe when I couldn't.”_

He turned to face Daud, eyeing the scars lining his face, the bend of his jaw, the greying of his muscle, and something flipped in his stomach.

Instinct. He understood it now.

_“Your life is absolved. Please, there is no one I trust more to be Emily's Royal Spymaster. Will you come work for the crown? For me?”_

Daud's breath hitched, his body lifting as if a weight had been thrown from his shoulders. Hot relief washed over Corvo's mind, filling his being. As Daud leaned forward to rest his furred forehead against Corvo's, Corvo didn't flinch away.

“Yes, Corvo. To you, to Emily, to the crown, I pledge the life you have given me.”

Corvo heard the Heart _sigh,_ felt it leave his chest and he _whined,_ his shoulders shaking. This was it; the missing piece, the final part of the puzzle he didn't know he needed and couldn't live without. He pressed his face into Daud's fur, claws grasping to arms until the emotion was too great to contain. He twisted his head skyward, opened his mouth to the Void, and _sang._

The sound was eerie, warbled, lilting unnaturally -- but it somehow still stayed _joyous._ A deeper, grated voice joined his; Daud's own howl dripping with magic and louder still, commanding and experienced. Soon distant voices of higher and lower pitches threw themselves up to the wind, screeching and roaring in time, shaking the very foundation of Dunwall.

If asked in the future, no resident who heard the call claimed it to be anything of this Earth. No Overseer, no philosopher could interpret the supernatural sound. So the residents spun tales of voidspawn escaping the ocean, of the sky opening, of the vengeance of the Outsider himself returning to curse them. Many a folktale would be told, but as the plague was cured and the residents forgot the masked vigilante that prowled among them, the truth was buried, left to the imagination.

For those among Dunwall that knew the real story? They knew in that moment that the Age of the Wolf Empress had only just begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH THERE IT IS. THAT'S. CHEF'S KISS. THE END. There will be one more chapter that wraps things up more or less on an emotional and cathartic level for me, and for the characters, but its mostly an epilogue. This is the assured ending. This is what I've been working for. I'm so glad it's basically DONE. 
> 
> If anyone can't tell by that ending, however, this story is FAR from over. I have so much more to tell, things that have been set up in this chapter, some unanswered questions, some great things coming, lemme tell you. I really love these boys, all of these children, really, so please, do what you must. Leave kudos, subscribe to the series, whatever it is. I LOVE EVERYONE WHO HAS BEEN READING THIS AND HAS KEPT GOING DESPITE THE BIG PERIODS OF NOTHING. The last chapter will be out before the fic's one-year anniversary. Thank you so much for reading, more to come~!
> 
> HAPPY 2019!!


	17. With Reckless Abandon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be an epilogue. 
> 
> :)

The lights of extravagant decoration hung high in the sky, so bright even the stars scattered from their brilliance. Giant balloons floated over and around the Boyle mansion, making the cold of Dunwall's winter seem a little less bitter. The party goers below seemed oblivious to the weather; the Boyle sisters kept the grounds heated, both in temperature and the alcohol burning in their guest's veins. They all laughed and yelled behind elaborate masks, eyes turned to the night sky as one of the huge balloons burst suddenly, showering confetti down on the disgruntled security guards below. Another in the cluster followed it, and another; inebriated patrons cheered, clapping at the show.

Among the distracted crowd, a shadow moved. One with a long coat, a well-fitted vest, and a metal mask that laughed like death. There was a long sword at his hip and a wristbow hidden in one of his gloves, but the guards didn't seem to care or pay any mind. They just shooed away the stiff figure when they caught him at the lavish dining table, telling him half-heartedly to put his weapons away. The masked man scoffed as the guard frowned; he grabbed a slab of bread and cheese and shrugged apologetically before darting off, quiet as a ghost.

The Boyle house, this skull-masked man was finding out, was a never-ending maze. Even when he thought he knew the layout, he ended up somewhere… unexpected. This time, it appeared he had escaped into a small dining parlor, one full of loiterers and smokers. A woman in a moth mask and a man in a whale mask watched him carefully, even as he awkwardly eyed his plate of food.

“That's quite the mask you have there,” the moth purred, and the metal face twitched to attention. “Almost like those masked felon stories from the plague.”

That laughing mask tilted, the individual behind it clearing his throat. “Yes, that _is_ where the inspiration came from,” he said, rough voice grating. The woman seemed pleased with the answer, as if nothing could be more exciting.

“At least _someone_ at this party has a sense of _mystery_ about them,” she laughed and her companion scoffed, annoyed. “If you ever need a good time, just ask for Miss White.”

The metal mask nodded, falling into a mock bow. Miss White giggled, making her friend even more distraught. He put a hand on her shoulder and steered her away, loudly proclaiming “More like _suspicious._ I'd steer clear of such unsightly masks, if I were you, Miss White.”

The mask watched them leave from behind glass lenses fitted into deep sockets. Then, he disappeared entirely.

In a magical blink and a flurry of smoke he was outside, perched just above a top floor balcony. Next to him emerging from the roof's shadow, a giant dog appeared, its eyes glowing in the dark and blending in among the lights. He held the plate out; a brown, greying snout sniffed, eying the mask critically.

 _“Bread and cheese with no wine_?” the wolf mentally inquired, incredulous.

“Listen, I'm not a maid or a waitress. If you don't want it, Rinaldo, toss it to someone else.”

The wolf's lip curled before chewing down the quick meal. Mildly satisfied, he licked his nose before looking down over the party below. The mask watched him, choosing his next words carefully.

“Seen anything worth reporting?”

_“A few things, all of them boring. From the patrol, this is looking to be a typical Boyle masquerade. Some patrons are complaining that this is the second masked party in a row from the sisters, do they're disappointed.”_

“Any word on the target?”

_“Yes. Connor's deduced it's Waverly. She's in red. Last seen near her sister in the music room, but moving upstairs. Might be able to intercept her there.”_

“And Brisby?”

The wolf's lip curled into a wicked grin.

_“We're keeping him occupied.”_

The mask groaned, shaking his head and adjusting his hood. “Just don't make it _obvious,_ please.”

The wolf eyed him knowingly. _“It's the twins. What did_ you _think will happen?”_

The snarl from behind the metal would have been menacing if it wasn't so tired. His left fist clenched; under the glove’s leather, an arcane mark sparked to life.

“As long as he stays put, I suppose. I'll be right back.”

He disappeared again, a flurry of smoke invisible against the cold sky, unseen by those below. His body left a trail as ink slithered into claws and black tendons, a physical ghost against the Boyle house decadence. He slid his smoky body back inside, hugging the ceiling, perching on extravagant chandeliers and dodging the guards patrolling the upper levels of the house. His predatory body finally solidified, the hood drawn close and those glass eyes seeing every bit of movement.

It wasn't long until his quarry appeared; dressed all in red and sporting a crimson, porcelain mask. Waverly Boyle finally ascended the stairs, passing under his hiding spot. He watched her quietly as she muttered angrily to herself, checked her pockets, then entered her room with the key procured.

He clenched his fist. In an instant, sound and color drained away. He leapt down, crouching low and sliding into the room. As he entered and stood off to the side of the canopy bed, he let the magic go. Color and air rushed back in and Waverly entered her room, none the wiser of her shady visitor.

She went over to her desk, checking the open book laid there. The mask adjusted his gloves, clearing his throat loudly.

“Lady Boyle.”

Waverly jerked, frantic, pulling a knife from her bag and tossing it his direction. He cleanly dodged the blade and closed in as quickly as possible. As she darted for the door he grasped her wrist, holding her in place.

“Get off me! I will call the guards!”

“That will make saving your life quite difficult, Miss Boyle.”

She jerked against his grip, unconvinced. He growled and pulled her closer and tried again. _“Listen._ There's a man here trying to abduct you. His name is Lord Brimsly. He claims to love you. Do you know him?”

 _That_ got her attention. She stilled, chest heaving, her mask's blank eyes looking into his shiny glass ones.

“How do you know this? Have you seen him? Did someone send you?”

“It is my business to know such things,” the mask purred out, “as it is my business to know you have been supplying money to Regenters about the city.” As Waverly twitched and looked away, he tilted his head. “Ah, I see I wasn't mistaken about _that_ either.”

“If you were sent to kill me, you might as well,” she all but cried, her voice broken behind her pristine mask. “I am in too much debt now. They keep calling for me, expecting me to fund their little pity group. Brisby is among them: he hounds me, _stalks me._ My sisters don't know, they don't see the books, they think he's just a weirdly fervent suitor...” She shook her head, her fight leaving her. “Be quick with your blade. I am better off dead.”

The man behind that toothless smile loosened his grip, taking a step back. The eldest Boyle sister didn't move, but stood resolutely, waiting for the blow.

A blow, he knew, would never come.

“Apologies, but killing isn't my business anymore.” He told her, his voice low. “I'm here to offer you an alternative.”

Her mask shifted, as if trying to catch his eye. When she didn't refute or respond, he continued. “I have an old contact who was more than happy to offer you a life away from Dunwall, up north in Morley. Portside. You could change your name, remake your life. And nobody would ever know.”

“A contact?” The woman repeated, suspicious. “I can't trust that. I need names.”

The mask eyed her, silent and unmoving.

“Farley Havelock,” he finally supplied. “An old captain of the Royal Navy, now… _retired.”_ He adjusted his grip on Waverly once again, this time holding her hand in his. “As a personal favor he's agreed to let you escape and go unscathed.”

“But-- the Regenters?”

“The crown plans to deal with them. They will not hound your sisters as they did you once you are out of the picture. You have my promise, your sisters will be free if you leave.”

“And if I don't?”

“Then I will not only destroy the Regenters, but the good name of House Boyle,” he threatened casually. “I will have no other option than to bring the scandal to public attention and followers of the late Lord Regent are not looked upon fondly--”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Waverly said, waving him off frantically. “I always knew this day would come anyway. If I have a target on my back, I always will. This just confirms it.” She shuffled away and grabbed her book, a few belongings and some money, stuffing it all into her purse. “So? Where do we go? How do you get me out of here?”

The metal mask bowed ever so slightly. That macabre smirk almost appeared real, if only for a moment.

“Leave that part to me, Lady Waverly.”

\------

Maneuvering Waverly through the house without appearing suspicious proved a tricky task, especially since the eldest Boyle was wearing a noticeable shade of red. However, she was able to distract guests and kept a respectable distance from the man in the metallic skull. For his part, that same mask kept an eye out for Brisby, the individual trying to abduct Waverly. A voice nagging in the back of his head fed him a constant stream of updates and the two of them changed their paths through the house accordingly.

Eventually, they came to the back cellar stairs, where the only obstacle was a curious Miss White who was snooping around the kitchen wares. He sent her off easily enough with a compliment and a drink, sighing as soon as she was out of sight. This was turning out to be one of his stranger jobs to date, and it wasn't even over with yet.

He led Waverly to the basement where a small river boat waited. She stared; in the boat, two men waited. One of them was small and greying, with tired eyes and mutton chops framing a quiet smile. The other was a larger man, shaved head glistening with sweat, his face looking pulled and stretched. She glanced back to the mask, looking for an explanation.

“Miss Boyle, I present Farley Havelock, previous captain of the royal guard, now private boat owner. And his friend and old subordinate, Samuel Beechworth.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Boyle,” the large captain said, though his hand twitched at his chest and his voice wavered.

“And you're supposed to get me out of this city safely?”

“As safe as we're able, ma'am,” Samuel said, settling down at the rear of the boat. “I'll help navigate the two of you out to the larger ship waiting in the harbor.”

“How do I know I won't be killed?”

“Farley here is also seeking asylum from Dunwall,” the mask explained, “since more than one party is after his blood. If I hear he has killed you, he'll be breaking contract and dealing with much _bigger_ issues than the ones he currently has.”

“It's true, my Lady,” Farley confessed. “I've made too much trouble since my furlough. I best be going as well.”

“Well, I suppose we're dealing with the same problem,” Waverly said. She looked down, hesitated, then stepped up to the boat. Havelock took her hand, helping her in. He then turned a grateful eye on that laughing mask.

“Thank you for the second chance,” Havelock told him quietly. The mask just growled, waving them off.

“Just get out of here already,” he snarled, voice warping. “And don't make me regret it.”

“And you promise my sisters will be safe?” she asked again, looking for reassurance.

“You have my word,” the masked replied. The boat's motor puttered to life and the gate to the river estuaries opened up. “I don't make promises I can't keep.”

If Waverly responded, he never heard it. The boat was already moving, the motor drowning out any words spoken. Havelock just nodded once and then they were off, disappearing into the gloom of the night.

The mask stood there for a moment, watching the dinghy float off. The cold crisp air of outside floated in, and something chillier than winter settled in his chest.

On the wind's whisper, he turned.

There in the gloom of the cellar's shadows, a pair of shining eyes stared him down. Reflective glass eyes, set into the face of an elongated mask, the gas filter of it making the wearer's breath come out ragged.

That metal mask huffed. He laughed once.

“What, had to come and check  my work?”

The newcomer stepped out, a heavy blue coat trimmed with gold draping his shoulders.

“Of course not,” He muttered, annoyed, his long legs unfolding as he stood up and strode over. The heavy Whaler mask was pushed up, revealing the scowling face and long hair of Corvo Attano. “I came to get back the mask you stole from me, _Daud.”_

\------

“Who told you?” Daud asked a few minutes later after they had found a secluded balcony to retreat to. Corvo shook his head, amused, his borrowed Whaler mask pushed up off his face.

“Nobody did,” he confessed. “I just knew.”

Daud nodded, humming, his smirk still hidden behind Corvo's metal mask. He carefully removed it from his face, the cold air immediately prickling at his clammy skin. He raised an eyebrow at Corvo but not because of the vague response. Over the last two months, Corvo had grown more and more used to the mental collective he was a part of now -- and was more at ease due to it. Intuitively, Corvo really could have just _known_ \-- or, he could have just gone to his room and seen his mask was missing from its stand.

Both were valid theories. Both were probably true.

“I'll blame Connor anyway,” Daud said, the smile pulling at his scars and Corvo laughed. It had a nice sound about it, even if it was still rusted at the edges.

“So,” Corvo mused, the borrowed Whaler mask finding its way into his restless hands. His cheeks shone with sweat as he leaned on the Boyle's balcony, watching as the boat carrying  Lady Waverly disappeared downriver. “Do you think this whole night will become a conspiracy?”

Daud laughed, a gruff thing, the feel of it hanging in his chest. He turned his own temporary mask in his hands, fingers smoothing the glass lenses resting under those metal brows. “Probably not as much as you think,” he growled back. “I wouldn't be good at my job if it could be traced back to the crown, but there will be stories enough about her disappearance, I'm sure.”

“Still surprised you had a contact in Havelock, of all people.”

Daud shrugged, his mouth never losing it's quirk. “He owed me a favor. And I think they'll both be happier like this.”

“Mm,” Corvo noncommittally agreed.

Daud settled on the balcony himself, watching the Royal Protector closely, as he always did. Even after two months employment, a saving of an Empress and partially sharing a headspace, Corvo _still_ fascinated him. Not because he was necessarily _complex,_ no, but because he was unpredictable.

Daud never wondered why the Outsider marked Corvo. He was, truly, a man of interest.

Corvo looked over, noting Daud's unwavering gaze. His eyes darted away, watching the colorful festivities as the Boyle party continued, the participants and guests none the wiser about the disappearance of one of their hostesses.

“We have to go back down eventually, or people will be suspect.”

“That is likely, yes.”

Corvo sighed out a ragged breath. “Parties really aren't my thing, but Emily insisted heavily that I come to this.”

“It’s because she can't go herself, not yet,” Daud reminded him. “And having a good story to bring home to her is her only price.”

When it came to Boyle's previous annual parties, Daud had only watched from a distance -- had even killed someone during a masquerade once -- but had never been invited. In a way, even if he was here on a job, he saw no reason to not enjoy the rest of the evening before retiring back to the Tower. Still, he turned to Corvo.

“Our role in _this_ story is over, however. If you want to head back to the Tower, we can. Just say the word and I'll gather my men.”

To his surprise Corvo shook his head, long hair tousled in the wind. “No, not yet. I just got here, after all. Emily's orders were to enjoy myself.” His eyebrow hiked up as he spun the Whaler mask playfully in his hand. “We could switch masks. Fuck with the party goers.”

Daud's lip twitched up as he uncrossed his arms. “That's the only way you're going to deal with this, isn't it? Seeing how many pockets you can pick, how many drinks you can steal, and how many guests you can scare?”

“Maybe if we stay long enough, they'll be so drunk you could morph your head and nobody would realize or remember.”

“I'm an assassin,” Daud snarled, but there was no venom in his voice. “I may be dramatic, but I'm not obtuse. There's a reason the Wolf of Dunwall is a _child's tale.”_

“Even more reason to make an appearance and excite the boring lives of these _poor_ nobles.”

Daud huffed as he stood, ignoring Corvo's coy smile. He held out the Protector's metal mask, expecting his Whaler's mask in return, but Corvo didn't move from his spot. He stayed leaning over the balcony, listening to the rabble of the partygoers, the colors of the lights bouncing off his every angle.

He was a man of exquisite form and a wolf of sharp intent. Corvo looked back up to Daud and Daud felt his jaw clench.

“What? You're not going to take it?” Daud said impatiently, nudging Corvo's arm with the mask.

“You aren't an assassin anymore, you know.”

Daud blinked, taken aback. He drew himself straight and looked away.

“We both know it's old habit, Attano, and even if it's not killing people my prey still seems to disappear in much the same manner.”

“I don't mean…” Corvo shook his head, licked his lip, started again. “Can I tell you something, Daud?”

Daud felt his stomach flip and his brain buzzed unpleasantly with the voices of his nearby men. He shut them out of his mind, one by one.

“You can tell me anything, Corvo.”

“Anyone listening?”

Daud laughed, low and short. “There were a few curious noses. They've been shoved away.” He settled back down, trying to get comfortable again. “What is it?”

Corvo went quiet, even withdrew from Daud's headspace. His leg twitched as he gripped the mask tight.

“She called you 'dad' the other day.”

Daud froze. He felt his hackles rise defensively, his eyes widening. Corvo glanced at his expression and chewed his cheek before clarifying. “It was a quick thing, a slip up. She seemed… startled, like she didn't expect it to be so natural. Like she expected me to be _mad.”_

Daud breathed out harshly, looking away and rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Corvo -- I'm sorry, you know I'm not looking to take that role from you--”

Corvo was up instantly, fixating Daud with a glare so intense that Daud felt his throat close and his self-consciousness rise.

“No, you misunderstand me and also her. You aren't taking my role in her life away, I will always be her father, her _Corvo._ I'm not mad that she sees you this way; I'm relieved, actually. You aren't an assassin to us, not anymore. You're her family.” Corvo's face softened and Daud felt his vulnerability rise. “You're _our_ family. You can put _that_ past behind you.”

“You shouldn't call your professional partner your family,” Daud scolded -- but there was a weakness to his words and they held no bite. And there it was -- that treacherous _affection_ worming across the bond he shared with Corvo, filling his chest and alighting him from the inside out. He felt his physical space invaded; when he next looked over Corvo was there, a smirk on his face, offering the Whaler mask to Daud.

“Is that what you think this is? A _professional partnership?”_

Daud exhaled, aggravated when Corvo didn't waver. His jaw clenched as he refused to meet Corvo's eye. He _didn't_ need this now, he wasn't drunk enough to handle Corvo coming to him with _this_ conversation topic. He had been holding Corvo at arm's length for the past two months, refusing to push against any boundaries and yet Corvo kept inching closer against both of their better judgements.

Daud breathed in and licked his lips. The action didn't go unnoticed.

“I thought that was what you _wanted_ it to be,” he said, finally meeting Corvo stare for stare. He had hoped it would make Corvo stand down, back off the advance, but _still_ Corvo refused to move, his features instead going sharp and wild at the edges. Something stronger than affection burned against their bond and filled Daud's nostrils. His nose wrinkled and he grasped for the Whaler mask, yanking it from Corvo's palm.

Corvo's claws gripped his wrist, holding him in place.

“Corvo--” he warned, a lip curling to show off lengthening fangs.

“I didn't come tonight because of the mask,” he stated evenly, owning up to his excuse. His eyes never lost their focus on Daud. “And I didn't come because Emily told me to.”

“Well then you should get better hobbies than babysitting me,” Daud argued, but he didn't pull away from Corvo's tight grip, didn't turn from that  intense stare. “Especially when parties aren't your thing.”

“Daud,” Corvo admonished softly, shaking his head. He looked down and away. “Please, don't make this hard.”

Daud sneered, still defensive despite everything he was feeling from Corvo's mind, from his own emotions. He tried to ignore it, to brush it off, but something about it made him want to drown instead of fight to keep his head above the surface. A wave crashed over him and he gaped at Corvo, disbelieving.

“You _can't_ be serious.”

“As the dead.”

“Please, don't ask this of me.”

“And why not?”

“Should I list the ways?” Daud growled, body rippling, “Ask _anything_ else of me, and you know I'll be there for you, but--”

“Then stop talking.”

Daud stuttered to silence, his mind too shocked by the command to counter it. And then Corvo was _there,_ the heat of his body filling the space between them, his scent strong off his slicked skin as lips slid across his, biting with stubble. Daud's inhale was sharp as his bond exploded with emotion and he was almost too shocked to  kiss Corvo back, even as the Royal Protector pulled him in closer, the gap between them closing. Corvo relinquished his mask from Daud's hand as the kiss deepened, both their chests rumbling with unsung cries. The scrape of teeth sent electricity down Daud's spine and he licked after it, claws gripping to Corvo's coat as his thoughts and emotions spiraled wildly. He couldn't tell who's ecstasy he was experiencing, who's triumph, who's arousal. It didn't matter anymore; it was complete and whole and _wonderful--_

Corvo backed away, a breathy laugh on his lips as he tapped Daud back into reality. Daud blinked, meeting Corvo's hungry eye; Corvo cleared his throat and motioned to Daud. He looked down; his whole body was sloughing off, smoking like a signal. Immediately his stationed men were mentally checking in on him, one after another. He cursed under his breath and mentally pushed them away again, all to Corvo's undying amusement.

“Nice to see you feel the same way,” Corvo mused as Daud pulled his heated face away, brushing his inky fur off his back. Daud grunted at the obviousness of the statement and straightened his jacket.

“I shouldn't,” was his only annoyed answer. “It's too risky, it's too -- _Outsider's literal ass, Attano.”_

“You're thinking too much about this.”

“And you're _not?”_ Daud countered, hating his desperation. “You're not thinking about the potential repercussions, the potential threats--”

“I am,” Corvo said smoothly. “But I also know I am inexplicably drawn to you, and you to me. You saved the only family I have left… you _are_ part of that family now, Daud.”

“Don't be such a sap, Attano,” Daud croaked weakly. “You don't have to do this just because some bloody magical bond told you to.”

“Don't blame instinct on this,” Corvo told him sharply. And then, softer, _“She_ wanted me to forgive you. She wanted me to move on. And ever since you accepted to be my Royal Spymaster, well…” he shrugged his shoulders. “Less guilt. Less regret.”

Daud didn't ask how Corvo knew the motives of Jessamine Kaldwin posthumously. They were two monsters of men who spoke with whale gods, could manipulate Void and had powers and dreams that made them scream at night. For them, speaking with the dead was the least alarming of their life events.

“Listen, I can't--” Daud started, his teeth going heavy, making his words sound forced. “What do you expect from this? Where do think this is going to go?”

Corvo shrugged and Daud bristled. He was _far_ too nonchalant about all this.

“I had an affair with an Empress for 14 years. I know how to keep this hidden, if I have to. And it won't interfere with work.”

Daud pinched the bridge of his nose, hating how Corvo's amusement kept intruding on his thoughts. “And my spies? They'll know.”

“They're _spies,”_ Corvo said, his eyes going dark. “They should know how to keep a secret.”

Daud sneered at the response, the growl rippling out of him as his logic fought with his emotion.

“If we ever break it off, you're going to have to fire me.”

“Then we won't break it off.”

Daud swallowed hard and coughed, gaping at Corvo. Corvo still stood there, serenely, still waiting for Daud to come around. Daud saw the conviction in Corvo's eyes and felt his panic rise. He shook his head, wiping his mouth where it was still wet with Corvo's saliva.

_Void._

He turned, his chest filled with fire, and _breathed._ Corvo gave him a moment before extending his thoughts back to him. They flowed over his addled brain, cool and reassuring, and when Corvo gently grabbed at his arm he didn't pull away.

“Sorry, that may have come off strongly, but I'm not…” Corvo licked his lip, took a breath. “I just want you here. With me. Physically, maybe not _intimately_ yet but... I've wanted this for a while now. I see no reason for that feeling to change. Besides,” he smirked, nudging Daud closer, “you're too good a spymaster to just _fire.”_

Daud scoffed, amused, opening to the affection. He raised a brow towards Corvo, eying him quizzically.

“You're not going to let this go, are you?”

“Well, I _would,_ _if_ you weren't interested,” Corvo mused, suddenly preoccupied with Daud's sleeve. “But now I _know_ you feel similarly, so…”He trailed of mischievously and Daud scoffed, amused.

He wasn't winning this test of wills at all.

“Corvo, you already have my life in your hands,” Daud reminded him. “If you want to give this a shot…” His eyes went dark, his smile dangerous. “Fine. Just make sure you don't regret any future decisions you make with it.”

Corvo laughed and nearly yanked Daud in again, pulling him close and licking against teeth and lips. This time, Daud was far more eager to reciprocate, reveling in their emotions melding together with each kiss.

They eventually returned to the party, bodies smoking with energy, Daud in his whaler mask and Corvo hiding behind his laughing metal face. They melted into the crowd, never out of sight of one another, sharing gossip with the guests while their two minds tangled with every passing shared moment. By the end of the night, the job was done. The largest investor for the Regenters was gone out to sea and the crown remained safe from a few more dissenters.

By morning, the Knife of Dunwall was smiling despite himself, nursing a coffee brought in by the hungover Royal Protector himself. Daud's men, blessedly, said nothing, but Daud could feel their energy.

They all _knew._

And he accepted it, all of it. Against his better judgement, against any bit of logic he could muster, he was ready for whatever this new chapter brought. Perhaps, just this once, it wouldn't be as bad he expected.

Perhaps his future wasn't so bleak, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I? I... I did it. I finished a long fic. I FINISHED. A LONG FIC. 
> 
> I wish I could say this was the end of wuffies, but it's not. not by a long shot. And I'm only giving Daud a moment to think he's just a 'happily ever after' waiting for him. Okay, a little more than a moment. He gets 12-15 years of domesticity while being spymaster. LET HIM HAVE THIS. 
> 
> But yES THAT IS the curtain close on _Wolfbann!_ I need to take a short break from writing but I will be posting some interim stuff in the mean time while I plot some other stories out. Thank you to literally everyone who read and commented and supported this fic: YOU GUYS KEPT ME ALIVE AND GOING. Also super extra special shout out to windsweptfic because let me tell you. I WOULD BE NOTHING. WUFFIES WOULD BE NOTHING. Without her undying support from the sidelines. This whole fic was for YOU, boo. I love you.
> 
> Onward and upward! Maybe 2019 won't be so bad after all. :D


End file.
